


楽園喪失 ~Paradise Lost

by fancypineapple



Category: EXO (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band), Super Junior, f(x)
Genre: Bestiality, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Mildly Unhygienic Sex, Multi, Murder, Outer Space, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancypineapple/pseuds/fancypineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2082. Sentient life has been discovered in a planet not very distant from ours. A crew united by fate are send to explorate the land, and make contact with its people.</p><p>The year is 2127. The crew's sole returnee, Jesuit priest Kim Junmyeon, is finally out of critical state, hidden away from the press by the Society of Jesus. Mankind knows some of what happened in the inhabited planet, a small fragment of a big tragedy, and Junmyeon's testimony is direly necessary to fill in the blanks. Whether he's willing to talk or not... it depends on the whims of the mind of a damaged man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Busan, February 8, 2127. - Rainy days.

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for Ansa! I've never worked on a fic for so long, holy cow. Also, my longest fic ever. Yay!? Based on the book "The Sparrow", by Mary Doria Russell. Written for Project Ateliers.

The rain has been relentless for the past two days, as it has been the wind, and the sensation of being trapped in a huge shower house. Byun Baekhyun’s hair is already slightly damp before he even leaves the modest, nameless hotel he has been staying in; it is just that humid, enough to make you sick, or at least feel sick, even if you’re doing nothing. Thankfully, Baekhyun is used to humidity. His hometown is not only humid to death, it’s also hot at all times in the year. What bothers him at the moment isn’t the humidity, but yes the gelid winter wind.

“Good morning,” Baekhyun greets the hotel owner, an elderly, wry woman, and it sounds almost sardonic. “Awful weather, yes?”

“Nothing we’re not used to,” the hotel owner shrugs. “Be careful today, Father Byun. Umbrellas aren’t a good choice for days like this. The wind…”

“And what would be a good choice? Besides staying in bed, which I can’t afford,” Baekhyun jokes, smiling complacently at her while fetching his superfluous belongings from the entrance’s coat hanger. “I’ll be fine, ma’am. And I should get going. Stay well.”

Baekhyun strides to the door, turns the knob, and immediately opens his umbrella to shelter from the windy, almost-sideways rain. It’s a bit of a quest, to hold the heavy black umbrella with one hand while maneuvering the door with the other, but he manages just fine, and, within a second, he’s walking down the wet, cold Busan streets. He braves the cold without flinching.

What Baekhyun has to do today cannot be delayed by a mundane thing such as the weather. It is too important. Important enough to give him, a seasoned Jesuit, someone used to working with adversity, a small burn of anxiety in his gut.

More than important, Baekhyun likes to label this matter as ‘legendary’.

He’s absolutely thrilled.

He walks a speedy stride, his black cloak swinging like a cape along his legs, noticing, from the corner of his eye, small indicatives that Busan was not safe anymore. White vans. Groups of foreigners at cafes, all discussing over a notebook or a clipboard. A glimpse of a camera… he’s have to tell the Head General about that as soon as he arrived. The higher-ups had, after much deliberation, chose Busan as a temporary base with the intent of running away from this kind of people, who would, theoretically, be seeking them in Rome instead. Clearly, they greatly underestimated the power of the press, and how they can smell blood from halfway across the globe.

And, this time, there is a lot of blood to be smelt.

Baekhyun walks faster.

To get to the address where he has to be, Baekhyun has to go down the commercial street for about six blocks, and, when he does, he wishes he had worn more normal clothes, foregone the austere Roman cloak. He’ll be certainly recognized by anyone who spares him a glance; rather ironic how, after decades and decades of declining into oblivion, Jesuits were suddenly all that anyone could think of when seeing a priest’s robes. It had come to the point when non-Jesuit priests no longer wore them, opting for clothing that hadn’t been tarnished with the Society’s stigma. And how could it be any different? After all that commotion… the news received eight years ago… and now…

“Excuse me?”

A hand taps on Baekhyun’s shoulders, and he quickly turns on his heels, water splashing around his boots. His quickness of movement seems to startle whoever called him briefly, allowing him to take a good look at them; a tall, blonde woman, of European traits, followed closely by a shorter Asian woman with a paper map in hands.

“May I help you?” Baekhyun answers gallantly, sheltering them with his umbrella.

“Would you please tell me where the closes congregation is?” The European woman asks in heavily accented Korean, smiling politely as her companion stares expectantly at Baekhyun. Baekhyun smiles back, not missing a beat.

“It’s not too far from here, actually. Shall I explain in English for you?” He replies in English, and the woman, perhaps a bit surprised, nods. “You can go down this avenue up until the fourth train station, then turn left and follow the other avenue a good five, six blocks, and then you have it. May I keep you company? That’s precisely where I’m going now, as you may’ve guessed,” he adds playfully, extending one arm so the women can take a better look at his robes. “We could walk there together.”

“Oh, thank you… but we’re waiting for a friend actually,” the woman’s smile is now much fainter, and she’s already turning to her companion for them to go. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“See you at the mass,” Baekhyun sends them off with an even wider smile, and, turning around just as quickly as before, resumes his stride down the street.

Fools. They shan’t get him so easily. He’s almost there anyways, so, if he walks just a little bit faster…

The way to the secret hideout is almost the same as the one to the church. Down the avenue, turn left, walk down the bistros and cafés and eventual bookstore – who knew Busan would turn out to look as rainy and pretentious as London one day – but with a twist: instead of walking one additional block and reaching the church, Baekhyun turns left again, and slips into the backstage of Busan’s gentle commercial hubbub.

No more than a minute later, he is there, ringing the doorbell of a narrow, inconspicuous two-storey house. As he waits to be let in, Baekhyun takes a step back and admires the house. It is… extraordinarily unremarkable. You got to admire this kind of sense…

“Who am I speaking to?” A voice suddenly speaks up through the intercom, mildly startling Baekhyun. He clears his throat and straightens his spine, aware that there’s probably a camera on him.

“Byun Baekhyun of the Society,” he announces, nervously fiddling with his umbrella. Rain pours. The bottom seams of his pants are wet. “I’m here under orders of the Superior General. He told me to seek this address.”

“I’ll buzz you in,” is all the voice says before the intercom cracks into silence, and the gate clangs open. Baekhyun can’t help but stay still for a moment, heart momentarily missing its rhythm. He’s not sure if he’s ready, but he has to be. Turning back is not an option. And, deep down, Baekhyun might feel nervous now, but he wants to do this.

This could change everything. From the current status of the Society, to history how we know it. It all depends on him.

He goes in.


	2. About Kim Junmyeon

Kim Junmyeon was born on May 24, 2051 anno Domini, in Seoul, South Korea.

At age 25, he had already been to every continent of the planet - Antarctica included.

He grew up in the metropolis, raised by a wealthy family and provided with the best of whatever he could have. Fine education, of course, was one of those things, and by far the one Junmyeon, even when young, appreciated the most; he loved the books, the lectures, and even the tests. He had always been a bright child. Quick and eager to learn.

It was no surprise to his parents when he decided, once finishing high school, to join a seminary. His mother’s family weren’t particularly devoted to Catholicism, but his father’s were fervorously religious, and Junmyeon’s parents had always made a point to include religious education in his upraising. If anything, the news that he had decided to further his clerical studies were met with the greatest of the joys, specially after everything that went down with his brother…

So, they send Junmyeon off to the institution of his choice – and Junmyeon, used to having the best, would settle for nothing less. He chooses the Pontifical Gregorian University, in Rome, Italy, and there his parents sent him. Thus, in the last bits of Januray of 2072, a fresh-faced, 18-year-old Kim Junmyeon moves out of his parents’ home to start his life in strange, foreign lands.

Little did he know that, in his future, this act - the act of leaving behind comfort and stability for knowledge and adventure - would be his destiny, and his career.

And, ultimately, his demise.


	3. Outskirts of Manaus, January 20, 2082. - Good Times, Bad Times.

The heat is insufferable, and the mosquitoes are out for a feast. Junmyeon, resigned and partially used to that kind of life, merely sighs, feebly attempting at swatting the bloodsucking beasts away. It’s all he can do. For now, at least.

He’s out by the riverside, having just finished his classes in the small community school he teaches at. Now, he has to walk to the dock, take the boat across the river, then walk some more to reach the shelter he lives at. This is not the path to his home – he lives, in fact, on the opposite direction. He’s going somewhere else. 

The name is short, easy to pronounce, but with a fanciness of its own league. CNPE. _Centro Nacional de Pesquisa Espacial_. A medium-sized, stark white building, with few, if any, windows. A lab, built in the middle of nothing, lest its delicate modality of research – fine-tuned astronomic research – be tampered by trivial things such as cellphones, radio, satellite television…

The security guard at the door recognizes Junmyeon as he approaches. He respectfully removes his hat and lowers his head, and excessively respectful gesture that never fails to leave Junmyeon flustered.

“Good evening, father,” he says.

“Good evening, Edilson,” Junmyeon greets in fluid Portuguese, knowing that there’s no use to ask the man to be less formal to him. “I came here to see Dr. Noah. Can I come in?”

“Sure, father, no problem,” the guard hastily starts working on opening the gate. “My daughter started school this week. Do you know a little girl named ‘Lucilene’? She’s twelve years old.”

“Lucilene! Yes, I’ve met her. I didn’t know she was your daughter,” Junmyeon says, remembering the quiet, respectful little girl that had started school this week, along with other eight children. Now that he thinks of it, there’s definitely some similarity, even if he doesn’t remember her face very well.

“She’s a good girl. Very intelligent.” The last of the multiple locks clicks open, and Edilson pulls one of the doors to let Junmyeon in. “You know where Dr. Noah’s room is, right?”

“I do. Thank you.” Junmyeon does a small curtsy, and goes in. He’s glad to leave the guard behind. The man is a good, well-mannered person, but usually, when Junmyeon comes to the lab, he has been speaking Portuguese all day, and that causes him recurring headaches. Even though he has been living in Manaus for almost two years, after a certain period of usage, the language still tires him in an inexplicable manner.

‘Dr. Noah’ is how Noah Chanyeol Park, an Australian-Korean cientist of otherworldly brilliance, is known in the country. In Brazil, people usually refer to each other by their first names, perhaps because too many people have the same surname. At first, Junmyeon wondered why not to do it like in Korea – to use both first name and surname – but, after living there, he realized people’s full names are usually way too long for that to be practical.

He and Dr. Noah – who he refers to by his middle name, ‘Chanyeol’, probably being the only one who does so – had bonded over things like this. Both had arrived at Brazil in the same flight, side by side in their seats, and, when fate led them to be in the same bus, and, later, in the same boat, they couldn’t help but start a conversation. They talked about what they came to do, what they knew about the country (having previously worked in the country, the scientist was fairly ahead in that topic), what they were looking forward to, what they were anxious about… in a country made of so many different people, they were too similar to each other not to stick together.

Eventually, they started constantly meeting up for lunch; at first, they’d walk a good deal into the city, leaving the community behind and invading the metropolitan part of Manaus to search for a restaurant. After a while, Junmyeon learned of a modest bar in the community he was now part of, one that served simple traditional food for a really good value. From then on, that became their meeting spot.

Their shared ascendency, of course, became a topic of discussion at some point. Chanyeol’s father is a first-generation Korean immigrant, while his mother… around fifth or sixth generation.

“So, in the end,” Junmyeon had asked, a forkful of fish on the way to his mouth. “You’re actually full Korean?”

“’Kind of’, yes,” Chanyeol agrees, munching the farofa with a little difficulty. To help, he takes a sip of water. “But I’m also full Australian, you know?”

Chanyeol retains a limited knowledge of the Korean language, thanks to the perseverance of his father in teaching it to him in his childhood. It’s enough for them to have conversations in Korean, which is a great relief to Junmyeon, even if Chanyeol constantly uses English in place of words he doesn’t know or can’t remember.

Chanyeol becomes a safe place to Junmyeon. He’s someone he can go to when he’s exhausted or disheartened, burdened by the responsibilities that come with being a soldier of God. Even though he’s quite seasoned for his age, having travelled a large number of countries in his years of training, sometimes it’s all just too much, so he relies on Chanyeol’s relaxed, happy-go-lucky attitude and innumerous jokes to get his energy back.

Today, Junmyeon doesn’t find him in his office, where he’d usually be hunched over one of his computers (he has many, Junmyeon has counted three), or sorting out papers. For a minute, Junmyeon just stares at the empty room through the door’s small window, wondering what to do.

“Hey! You’re here!” A voice booms in the hallway, and Junmyeon’s face breaks into a smile before he can even turn around. There he comes, walking in a wide stride, an odd, battered figure, from his worn-out fabric shoes – one of those with the soles made of rope, so dirty and old the seams are starting to grow loose – to the top of his head, where his badly combed hair does twists and turns at its own will. “What are you doing standing there? I’m not in!”

“That I can tell,” Junmyeon clarifies, chuckling. “I was wondering where you’d gone to. I didn’t know you ever left your office.”

“I have to. I need to eat,” the scientist clarifies, pulling out his keys to unlock the door Junmyeon had been wistfully glancing at. “But aside from that, yeah, I stay in. Sorry about lunch today, by the way.”

“It’s fine. It sounded important.” Junmyeon brushes it off with a shrug.

“And it _was_ , let me tell you,” says Chanyeol, turning on his heels to face Junmyeon with excited wide eyes. “Well, I wasn’t supposed to talk about this, it’s confidential for now because the project isn’t officially authorized yet, but I trust you not to tell anyone.”

“I give you my word.” There’s some solemnity in Junmyeon’s voice when he say that, even though he has a smile on his lips. “Will it really be okay, though? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with higher ups just to tell me how your day was.”

“Nah,” Chanyeol makes a dismissive hand gesture, going around the room to search for the right computer to turn on. One thing Junmyeon has noticed over the time; Chanyeol labelled each of his computers with its use. Some of those labels were software names, some had the initials of the lab it was used for, and one of them – a sleek black-colored portable, newer than all the others by at least ten years – was labelled ‘personal’. “The director just doesn’t want the government people to get upset. This _is_ a semi-public institution after all.” He glances at his computers with distaste. “Mostly public, I’d say.”

Junmyeon chuckles. Chanyeol’s daily wrestle against the computers at the lab – some older, some newer, all too outdated to work properly – are his most frequent sources of stress. Eight out of ten times he complains about anything during lunch, it’s about the computers. One of the other two times it’s about other gadgets from the lab.

The thing is, the Brazilian government is a bureaucratic beast. Getting the necessary money to update, fix, or acquire technologic equipment in any public institutions, even when done in quicker, slightly less than legal ways, can take _years_. Some institutions have such an urgent need for newer equipment, or for quicker maintenance, that they’ve given up on officially requesting money for those processes, and rely entirely on other methods to get what they need. The lab, as far as Junmyeon can tell, is one of those institutions.

“Very well, then,” Junmyeon follows Chanyeol around his office like a shadow, watching as he, simultaneously, searches for a file and reorganize his shelves. “Tell me. What of importance happened during lunch today?”

“Well, I had lunch with the boss,” Chanyeol grins smugly, puffing up his chest in mockery. “The unit’s director, Mr. Ishiyama. I think you might’ve heard about him, he’s on TV, like, all the time to talk about the space program.”

Junmyeon chuckles, looking at Chanyeol with something akin to pity. “I don’t have a TV, Chanyeol…”

“Oh.” Chanyeol makes a face, and Junmyeon chuckles a little more. “Right. But hey, I don’t know, maybe your students know him? He’s been on a night show… well, that doesn’t matter,” he quickly adds, shaking his head to maintain focus. “The boss called me today. He called the tower asking me out for lunch, saying it was really important and all. So I called you, and I swear I didn’t hang up on you, I tripped over the cable—”

“I presumed,” Junmyeon assures him.

“—and then I told Torres to mind the equipment and left.” Chanyeol slams his hands on a shelf out of sheer excitement, almost scaring Junmyeon to death. “And you won’t believe what it was about!”

“What was it about?” Junmyeon indulges, too kind to point out how much like a second-rate news site headline Chanyeol had just sounded like.

“They—well, they sort of decided to lay me off, actually,” Chanyeol frowns. “But that doesn’t matter. They’re going to engineer an AI to run the tower!”

Sincerely surprised, Junmyeon raises his brows. “Wow!” He exclaims, holding himself back from commenting anything solid until Chanyeol is finished. “And you’re going to help?”

“I am! Since I’m the only one who has worked regularly on the tower for so long, I’m going to provide all of the data. See, I don’t mind being laid off for this. It’s gonna be fun! And it’ll take years for me to actually become redundant, unlike Torres, who I’m pretty sure will get the news later this week.” Chanyeol shrugs. “He might not even mind. Probably will end up working at the materials section. Everyone here treats working at the tower as a second-rate job anyway.” After the malfunctioning technological paraphernalia, this is the second thing Chanyeol dislikes the most about the labs. “But yeah, that’s it! That was the important stuff that went down during lunch. So, I might be leaving Brazil in one year from now, but I’ll be participating in a fun project until then! Yay!”

“Don’t say that.” This time, it’s Junmyeon who makes a face. “You might not have to leave. They’ll probably need someone to monitor the AI for the first couple of years. Brush it up a little.”

“I said ‘one year’ already counting with the brushing-up period. Apparently, the engineer I’m gonna be working with is a genius.” Chanyeol’s eyes gleam at the word ‘genius’. “Mr. Ishiyama actually called her a ‘once-every-a-thousand-years’ genius. So I’m supposing she could engineer an AI in less than six months.”

Junmyeon laughs. “That’d be impossible!”

“Who knows!”

“Listen: when I was involved with AI engineering…” Junmyeon starts off, but, obviously, Chanyeol interrupts him within half a second.

“You were involved with AI engineering?!” He startles, pointing at Junmyeon both in accusation and in doubt. “ _You_?”

“Of course, I wasn’t the one engineering anything.” Upon that clarification, Chanyeol lowers the finger, muttering a soft ‘oh’. “The society partnered up with an university from the United States to create a self-adapting AI. So they could use it to aid students with cognitive difficulties.”

Chanyeol frowns, crossing his arms. “How would that work?” His frown projects his glasses forward, and he quickly, unconsciously pushes them back up his nosebridge with a finger.

“The AI had a large amount of didactic approaches in its database, branching out and reorganizing every time an approach received a positive response.” It’s wondrous that Junmyeon still remembers any of that. He doesn’t actually know a thing about artificial intelligence of that complexity; that explanation is what he was told when he made, to his superiors at the time, the same question Chanyeol just made to him. “For that to work, though, they needed someone who actually knew and made use of a great variety of didactic approaches—”

“You!” Chanyeol’s excited yell cuts Junmyeon off, and, at that, he has to swallow a bout of pride.

“I was always known in the society for being a quick learner,” he says, but Chanyeol scoffs.

“Please. You’re a monster. I think your school should get you on that Sunday night show – ‘Man learns Portuguese in a month!’” With his hands, Chanyeol makes headline gestures. “‘This Korean man spent half a year in Brazil, and people can’t tell he’s a foreigner anymore’!”

“You’re so over-the-top,” Junmyeon shakes his head, as if scolding a rebellious child. Chanyeol just rolls his eyes.

“I should ask Dr. Enomoto to take a look inside your head when she gets here,” he says by way of a threat, but it has no malice in it. “With your learning powers and her engineering skills, maybe you can design a new, better AI to sell to that university for a billion bucks. Or you could pick up AI engineering.”

Junmyeon chuckles, but it’s a feeble chuckle. “Dr. Enomoto…?” He feels a bit silly for asking that, thinking, perhaps, that he has heard the name wrong.

“Yeah, Enomoto Mitsuki,” Chanyeol confirms, and Junmyeon’s drops off his face like it weighs tons. “The one I’ll be working with. The ‘one-in-a-thousand-years’ genius.”

Junmyeon just gazes at the floor in silence, as if searching for words between the cold, stained white tiles.

One in a thousand years, huh?

Well, if Junmyeon’s opinion is anything to go by… the title certainly becomes her.


	4. Boston, September of 2078. - Common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update hooray! Looking back to these initial chapters that I wrote so long ago is getting me a little nostalgic. The part i'm writing right now is much more... um... yeah. Anyway here it is, have a good reading!

They met for the first time in a coffee shop, one that was almost near enough the university to be considered in-campus, on September 1st. Junmyeon had received a time and an address from the engineer via email, and, despite both not being inconvenient for him at the time – the place was perfect, since he could go by foot after teaching his first morning classes; the time, not so much, since he’d have to rush – he had been a bit thrown off for not having a say on the choice of either. He was, of course, used to being tossed around and commanded by his superiors in the Society of God, but having another person or institution do that to him would never cease to be a little off-putting. Even when it was done in behalf of the Society.

Because of the tight timeframe between his classes and the scheduled time, he was a little late to his appointment with the engineer, rushing through the front door ten minutes later than he had been supposed to be. They had never met, but spotting her wasn’t difficult; at that hour, the shop was fairly scarce of costumers, and only an AI engineer would bring such an intimidatingly huge laptop to a commercial establishment.

Not to mention, she recognized him immediately.

“Mr. Kim Junmyeon.” She rose to her feet, standing surprisingly short in front of him, despite he himself not being the tallest of the men. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Likewise,” he replied a little bit breathlessly, shaking the hand she offered. “I’m sorry about the time… I teach some classes in the morning, and they went a little overtime.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure it won’t affect our course of work today.” She smiled, and, despite it being merely a polite, cordial smile, it was quite lively. Something clicked in her hand; that something, Junmyeon noticed upon looking, was an audio recorder. “My name is Enomoto. Now, shall we begin?”

She jumped into work so quickly that Junmyeon had barely sat down when she asked him the first question. The first of many.

Their meetings usually went like that; quick greetings, then work right away. ‘Work’ mostly consisted of Enomoto asking Junmyeon questions about his academic history – “How did you do in school?” “What was your favorite subject?” “And least favorite subject?” “How would you define your performance in each of those subjects?” “How did you do in college? What was your favorite subject _then_?” – and typing incessantly as he answered, even though her recorder was always placed right in front of him. It was quite tedious. And tiring.

“You know, when my supervisor mentioned you to me,” Junmyeon started off during a particularly tedious session, when he found a breach in Enomoto’s impenetrable wall of questions. “He told me you and I had ‘a lot in common’.” He looks to have caught her by surprise, form the confused, off-guard look she’s casting him over her thin-framed glasses. “I wonder if he meant that we’re both Asian.”

To Junmyeon’s delight, she laughs. Even though it’s a small, restrained laugh… it’s something. “He certainly meant that we’re both very smart.”

“Hm, we’ll see it about you,” he jests, faking a smug expression, but quickly adding, “I’m joking, of course. You’re much smarter than I’d ever dream of being.”

“Thank you,” she says, but, this time, it’s a strictly polite interaction. “Now…”

And that lasts for the rest of the month.

 

During the course of one year – eleven months, if he’s to be precise – Junmyeon manages to build a cordial friendship between him and the engineer through small interactions like that one. Sometimes, he’ll make jokes about the weather, or tell her funny stories that happened to him at classes, in the seminary, during past missions, or during his childhood in Korea, even. At other times, though, he’ll try to make her talk about herself – and that’s when his attempts are the most unsuccessful.

“Your name is pretty uncommon,” he remarks one time in December, when they sit by a diner’s window so he can watch the snow fall pacifically onto the grey sidewalks. “The way it’s written. ‘Enomoto’ is rarely written with just one kanji.”

That elicits an odd reaction from her. Usually, when he talks to her, she goes along and smiles, even when she’s clearly not very interested and wants to finish her job as quickly as possible; this time, however, her face stiffens.

“You’re right,” she concedes, adjusting her glasses with a quick movement of her fingers. “For the Yamato Japanese, it’s pretty uncommon. Even among the zainichi, it’s not a very well-spread practice.”

Junmyeon’s chin falls to the floor.

“Wait,” he desperately scrambles for words. “You’re… you’re Korean-Japanese?”

“Yes.” There’s some placidity in the way she confirms that fact. “Third generation. Now, about the—”

“Wait—last question, I promise.” Junmyeon is eager to know more. This is the first time Enomoto has revealed anything at all about her past, and Junmyeon can’t let this chance go. “Are you half-Japanese? A quarter? Or full Korean?”

“Full Korean,” she replies quickly, a finger tapping over the space bar of her laptop, not pressing, just touching it hard enough to make a slight sound.

“So, that means ‘Enomoto Mitsuki’ is just your legal name, right? The one you use for Japanese documentation,” Junmyeon presses. “What’s your birth name?”

Enomoto smiles. “You said the previous question was your last,” is all she says, and the strain in her smile says everything.


	5. Busan, February 8, 2127. - Meeting.

The person he meets inside the house comes to Baekhyun as a pleasant surprise.

“Kim Jongdae!” He exclaims upon seeing who awaited him at the front door, and, despite the situation, both men laugh and hug each other. “You old rascal! Where have you been?”

“Working, where else? Look at me,” Jongdae steps back, signalizing his own body with a grand hand gesture. “You see this tan?” He isn’t tanned at all. “Eastern Russia, one whole year.”

Baekhyun winces. “Sounds like a party. I was at a pretty cold place last year, too, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Where?”

“Morocco.” He’s laughing even before he finishes the word, and Jongdae fits a punch square in the middle of his chest.

Baekhyun and Jongdae were classmates at the St. Ignatius Private University in Bucheon – one of the last thriving Jesuit institutions in the world, and the last in South Korea. They became good friends slowly, over the time, going from barely knowing each other’s names for the first year to being regulars at each other’s houses by the time they graduated. Then, as if to cement their friendship – or to put it through a test of fire depending on your point of view – both of them had their respective first missions at the same time, and together. They went to Mozambique. It was the first time Jongdae had to rely on Baekhyun for communication, and not the opposite. Baekhyun, being Brazilian, was fluent in Portuguese, and, despite having some difficulty with the Mozambican dialect, was of great use to everyone in the mission.

“Well, come in. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold and lose your voice,” Jongdae says, rushing Baekhyun inside and closing the door behind him. “You’d probably die within hours of not being able to talk.”

“Funny,” Baekhyun rolls, giving up on retorting for now. Despite being extremely glad to see his friend again, he hasn’t forgotten the reason why he is there, and telling by the urgency which he had been called to Korea with, the Superior General was in dire need of his help. “I suppose I need to talk to someone now. I was told I’d need further instructions. Would that person happen to be you?”

“I don’t think so.” Jongdae smiles sympathetically. “But I think I understand, now, why Father Do is upstairs, waiting for,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘something, or someone, I don’t know yet’.”

“Father Do would be…?”

“Do Kyungsoo, the Superior General’s personal assistant. It’s regretful that he’s on the case, but I guess it can’t be helped.” Bakhyun frowns questioningly, and Jongdae, upon noticing it, explains. “He fiercely opposes to the Society giving Father Kim shelter; according to him, it’s ‘disgraceful’ and it ‘damages even further our already crumbling reputation’. He spoke at the assembly, it was dreadful.”

Baekhyun grimaces. “That’s harsh. Father Kim is still a Jesuit like all of us.”

“Yeah… well,” Jongdae sighs, shrugging in a tired manner. “It must be you who he has been waiting for. I believe he’ll have the information you need.”

“I see.” It’s warm in the house. Baekhyun needs to hold back the urge to shed off his habit; it’ll take him all of this lifetime for him to stop treating it like a cloak. “I’ll go upstairs then. Good to see you, Jongdae.”

“Likewise.” Jongdae claps him in the back. “Good luck.”

Baekhyun mimics his gesture, an _I’m fine_ to Jongdae’s _be strong_ , and spins over his heels, striding up the somber flight of stairs that have been waiting for him.

Up there, there’s a short, narrow hallway, immersed in shadows, at the end of which a big window provides the place with all the illumination it disposes of at the time. There are only two doors; one closed, and one open.

Baekhyun guesses that the open one will be the right choice, and peeks inside.

He’s mistaken.

Inside, lying on a white linen nest, is a man who Baekhyun is lucky to be able to meet in his lifetime. Even though he now sleeps, breathing noisily through an oxygen mask as machines beep and hum all around him, the mere fact he’s there, and _alive_ , is history how Baekhyun learned being changed in front of his eyes.

After all, when Baekhyun was born, Earth had already lost contact with the mothership. He was raised with the presumption – the belief, in fact – that the mission had been a failure, and that all of the crew had perished in a distant galaxy.

Yet, there he is: Kim Junmyeon, right in front of his eyes!

A souft cough echoes in the hallway, violently yanking Baekhyun out of his state of marvel. In his startle, he turns around so fast that he almost loses his balance and fall to the ground, which would certainly have damaged his reputation a good deal.

“Good afternoon,” says a small, somber man, who now stands in the half-shadow of the hallway, in front of the door that had previously been closed. The look in his eyes is tougher, colder than steel. “You would be…?”

Baekhyun blinks, face flushing from the embarrassment of being caught snooping around. He clears his throat. “My name is Byun Baekhyun. I was sent here by the Superior General himself.”

The other man’s face does not move, and he maintains the steely gaze, but there’s a flash of surprise in his stiff expression.

“I see.” He at last advert his eyes, the thin, silver-colored frame of his glasses gleaming weakly. “You must be the one I’ve been expecting. I’m—”

“Father Do Kyungsoo.” Baekhyun finds it very small of him, to try to one-up the other man in something so insignificant, but pride is his fatal flaw. He offers a hand. “It’s nice to meet you at last.”

Father Do is visibly thrown off his game by Baekhyun’s little stunt, hesitant during their handshake, but it takes him no more than a second to school his expression back into indifference. It seems that for him, as well, pride might be, if not his fatal flaw, at least one of his minor ones.

“We should go inside,” he says, walking to the closed door behind him and quietly swinging it open. “We need to discuss the details as quickly as possible. I was told the plan was to be put in motion tomorrow morning, just after sunrise.”

Baekhyun, who had started following his lead into the room, halts in his tracks, frowning. “The plan?”

There’s a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes when he turns around to face Baekhyun. “I’ll explain inside. Come at once.”

 

 

After the meeting is over, Baekhyun almost runs over Jongdae on his way downstairs.

“He’s up,” he hisses breathlessly once he meets his friend.

“He’s up?” Jongdae frowns, and Baekhyun is ready to explain, but Jongdae merely glances at his cellphone. “But it’s too early.”

“What?” Baekhyun looks at Jongdae as if he had grown an extra arm overnight. “No, you don’t understand—”

“Father Kim is up, if I got it right?”

Baekhyun brakes, and gapes.

“Uh,” he utters. “Yes.”

The thing is, Jongdae is still bizarrely unfazed by the news. He just nods a bit cryptically, as if wondering what to do. After a moment of deliberation, though, he looks up at Baekhyun with intent. “Tell Mrs. Pyo to hurry up with his lunch. Tell her that he just woke up.”

“Who Mrs. Pyo…?” Baekhyun asks, at a loss, as Jongdae dashes past him to climb up the stairs.

“Ask for her in the kitchen!” That’s all he says before he disappears into the upper floor.

Baekhyun has no choice but to do as told, a bit bewildered and quite thirsty for information.

After the message is relayed to Mrs. Pyo at the kitchen, it creates a general commotion among the (many, now that Baekhyun takes notice) staff members in the house. Baekhyun does his best to stay out of the way, and, even though what he wants the most is to go upstairs and watch – as if to make sure Kim Junmyeon is, indeed, real, and alive – he knows it wouldn’t be a good idea, or a well-received one, so he restrains himself to the entrance hall, watching the hubbub with a little bit of longing.

At a certain point, Do Kyungsoo climbs down the stairs, his calm movements a stark contrast against the constant rushing upstairs-downstairs that has been going on for some minutes now. Baekhyun observes as he, very calmly, dodges every other running staff member to make his way to the hall as well, stopping right by Baekhyun’s side.

“Seems like he’s up,” he comments.

“Seems so.” Baekhyun presses his lips together in a thin line. “Scared the living daylights out of me. I was walking past his room—”

“Not watching him sleep again, I suppose,” Kyungsoo jests, but with malice. Baekhyun scoffs.

“I had just left our meeting, Father Do, and happened to walk past his room, since it stands in the way before our meeting place and the stairs.” The room where the meeting had happened was not a bedroom, like Kim Junmyeon’s, but an office. “The only other way out for me would’ve been jumping through the window.”

Baekhyun is ready for Kyungsoo to tell him it would’ve been a good idea. He has an equally rude comeback to follow up with if he does.

“It would’ve attracted a lot of attention,” he says instead.

“So I guessed at the time.” Baekhyun always has an answer to every call. A gift that used to get him into an awful lot of trouble during his basic education. “Seems like everyone had been waiting for him to wake up today, though.”

“Oh, he hasn’t been in a coma for a while now,” informs Kyungsoo, and Baekhyun is unable to hide how genuinely surprised he is at that. “So he does wake up regularly, to eat, to be medically examined…”

“I see.” There’s a bitter taste in Baekhyun’s mouth. “I hadn’t heard about this.”

“As you shouldn’t have, since it’s confidential information,” Kyungsoo informs with no sort of kindness. Baekhyun grits his teeth. “It puzzles me that the Superior General didn’t tell you, though, since good part of your role in plan involves Kim Junmyeon being conscious; guess it just slipped his mind.”

If Baekhyun has any sort of retort to that, he chooses to keep it to himself.


	6. Boston, August 25, 2079. -  Push.

“Usually, when we see that someone doesn’t want to talk about something,” says Amber Liu, very poignantly, over a meat pasty, “the way not to upset them is not to insist.”

Junmyeon groans. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad. I—I just thought she was a little reserved, that’s all.”

“Well, that too: she _is_ ,” Amber points out, gesticulating with the pasty in hands. “Which means, even if she didn’t have some super secret trauma, it’d still have been rude to press her against the wall like that.”

Junmyeon merely sighs.

Enomoto is gone, with no more than a short, curt email for a goodbye. Even though their work together had been finished for a while now, perhaps a couple of weeks?, they’ve been still meeting up every day for a cup of coffee and small chat, and some ‘brushing up’, how Enomoto called going through the collected data again and again. Junmyeon had been triumphant to finally inch a little closer to the scientist, after such a long time trying. Even if ‘a little closer’ really wasn’t that much closer at all.

Perhaps it _had_ been a little too early to ask about that again.

“So,” Junmyeon had decided to ask on Thursday. Their last day together, something that, at the time, Junmyeon didn’t know, couldn’t have known. “Do you speak Korean, Enomoto-san?”

Enomoto gave him a small smile. Junmyeon had learned to talk to her in Japanese – a language he had picked up in one of his first missions – to appease to her when she started losing her patience. After a while, it became something he did just to make her smile.

“Just a little,” she replied, making a hand gesture to indicate how little. Rather endearing. “My parents never really taught me. I learned it by myself with other children of the community.”

Junmyeon nodded, demonstrating interest. She was opening up, at last. He had to proceed with caution. “Where did you study engineering?” was his next question. “Both Japan and Korea have great technology schools. I’d been lost if I were you.”

For some reason, though, Enomoto’s very first response to that question was a brief, subtle pained look in her face. Junmyeon blinked, and it was gone, but he couldn’t brush off the impression…

“I… learned from a private instructor,” she answered, adjusting her glasses and carefully averting her eyes.

“A private instructor…?” Junmyeon frowned in slight confusion, and interest.

“Yes. My benefactor saw potential in me, and offered me education in exchange for my services,” she explained, and Junmyeon’s jaw dropped. “So, now, he acts like an agent to me.”

“And—and does he pay you?” Came the quick follow, by which Enomoto was slightly taken aback. “Like, with percentages—”

“He provides me with everything I need,” she cut him off rather firmly. “Food, a home, a monthly allowance for personal luxuries. I live a comfortable life.”

Junmyeon paled. He had heard about things like that before, but… “But Enomoto,” he started off a bit more sternly than he’d intended to. “That’s… that’s intellectual prostitution.”

Enomoto’s expression stiffened into stone.

“That’s… not the most polite way to put it,” she said in a steely voice.

“But it’s what it is.” For a second, Junmyeon wondered if he was being too condescending, if he was using the voice he always used on rebellious children when he taught at a seminary. Soon enough, however, he realizes that it was the content of what he was telling her that mattered. “You couldn’t break away from your agent if you wanted to, could you? Because you’re indebted with him.”

She hesitated for a second, visibly gritting her teeth behind her tightly shut lips. Junmyeon felt terrible for cornering her like that, but…

“You don’t have to defend him to me, Enomoto.” He was kinder, sounded kinder this time around, leaning forward to demonstrate his sympathy towards her. “It’s not your fault that you ended up in this kind of situation. These people, this sort of people, take advantage of others in their most fragile moments.”

“Look,” she started off, trying to interrupt him, but he was strong. He needed to be strong.

“The first step for you to break away from your agent is to recognize him for what he is,” he carried on. “A leech. A vile figure who built their fame and fortune by stepping on people as talented as you.”

“Mr. Kim—”

“Once you acknowledge the misery of your current condition, you’ll have given the first step towards liberation.” He was relentless. “You’re a good-hearted, frightfully intelligent woman. Once you manage to break away, you’ll have a life of nothing but good things, conquered by no one other than yourself.”

It happened within a second. One moment, Enomoto was sitting in front of him at the coffee shop, collected and austerely dressed as always; the next, her face was bright red with fury, and she was on her feet to leave.

“Have some respect for me, Mr. Kim Junmyeon!” She shouted, quickly gathering all of her material, and Junmyeon got up as well to stop her, but she hit him with a heavy notebook, square in the face. “We’ve worked together for one year! One year! Don’t you think you know me as a person just from this short time!”

“I—” he had an apology on the tip of his tongue, but she didn’t let him finish, hitting him with the notebook again, and again.

“It’s great for you that you’ve always had everything,” she shoved a finger onto his face, absolutely livid. Her eyes were mad. Junmyeon had never seen someone so small be so terrifying. “But all I have today, including this _miserable condition_ as you called, is the most I’ve ever had in all of my life, and, if it weren’t for my _vile_ agent, I wouldn’t be here! God knows if I’d even be alive!” Her voice quivered at the word ‘alive’, and Junmyeon watched, with horror, as tears slowly filled up Enomoto’s round, angry eyes. “Have a good day, Mr. Kim!”

And she stormed out of the shop, leaving Junmyeon regretful and humiliated, and all the customers inside staring at him in fright.

 

 

 

And this is how Junmyeon ends up going to Amber for advice, like he always does. He and Amber had met in his mission to Mexico a couple of years ago; she was a volunteer at the same village the mission took place, and, as a very talkative and entertaining person, soon became friends with all the Jesuits, all the other volunteers, and all the villagers. It had been under her suggestions that Junmyeon had come to Boston to teach, and, even though she was his only close friend in the university, there wasn’t a lonely moment with her around.

However, just because Amber was a fun, outgoing company, it doesn’t mean she didn’t give Junmyeon harsh advice when it was due. Like right now.

“You were a dick,” as she has pointed out several times since he told her the story. “You should’ve stopped pressing when she said she lives a comfortable life. If she lives well, she lives well.”

“But she _doesn’t_ ,” Junmyeon justifies, drinking some tea in a miserable manner. “She convinced herself she does, but she doesn’t. She was made a slave!”

“That’s none of your business, though,” Amber cruelly justifies. Junmyeon sighs. “Look, basically, you had to make a choice. Either you stayed cool with her or you gave her a wake-up call. You gave her a wake-up call. Take responsibility.”

Junmyeon sighs again. He just wishes he didn’t have to choose. “I was just trying to help,” he mutters.

“Yeah. It happens.” Amber finishes her pasty in one bite, briefly dusting her hands on her jeans before pulling something from her pocket and throwing it in Junmyeon’s general direction. “Here. Postcard from Henry.”

The postcard lands by Junmyeon’s feet, upside facing him, a bright photograph of the Merlion. _Greetings from Singapore!_ Junmyeon picks it up with little enthusiasm.

“Lucky,” he mutters, reading the brief message on the back. It was addressed both to Amber and to him. Henry had been with them in Mexico, and, similarly to Amber, managed to become best friends with absolutely everyone there. “I’m probably going to the South Pole for my next one.”

“ _What_?” Amber widens her eyes in disbelief, and Junmyeon can’t help but laugh at his own disgrace. “What are you going to do there?! Isn’t your job, like, helping the poor and the oppressed? There aren’t poor and oppressed people in the South Pole! There’s no one there!!”

“If the rumors are true, I’m gonna be tagging along an ecological expedition. Joint effort by some emerging countries.” He pockets Henry’s postcard, too distracted to offer it to Amber so she can keep it. They usually offer the postcards for each other to keep until one of them gives in, a backwards fight over the generic mail from their over-communicative friend. “It’s my duty to go to barren places to become more spiritually centered.”

“I see. So the Society of Jesus is actually a big, Christian version of one of those fathers who think camping while snowing and fishing for salmon with your bare hands shapes your character.” Amber makes a face, and Junmyeon can’t help but laugh. “Terrible. Anyway, good luck in the South Pole. Send postcards.”

“It’s just a rumor.” Junmyeon lets out his umpteenth sigh of the day. “But perhaps I should go with gratefulness. If I were more spiritually centered _now_ , I wouldn’t have done that to Enomoto.”

“Yeah.” Amber looks at him with sympathy, offering a supportive clap on his back. “Living and learning, buddy. Next time you meet her, make sure to fix things up between you two.”

Junmyeon laughs weakly. “ _Next time you meet her_ ,” he repeats, shaking his head. “If a ‘next time’ comes at all.”

“Hey. You never know.”

Despite being younger than him by two years, Amber had always been the wiser one.


	7. Outskirts of Manaus, February 13, 2082. - Another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: slight mention/reference to kidnapping, rape, torture. happy new year!

“… at first I was really happy about the break,” Chanyeol has been talking over his portion of moqueca for a while now. The meal has certainly gone cold by now; Junmyeon has finished his own portion a long time ago, but he’s used to this. Chanyeol normally talks a lot during meals. “But then I realized, holy shit, I’m living in the middle of nowhere, one hour by foot-slash-boat away from the town, and I don’t even have a cellphone.” He shoves a generous forkful of the rich fish stew into his mouth. “What am I supposed to do!?”

“Pray and meditate,” Junmyeon suggests with a placid smile. Chanyeol glares at him.

“Ha. Not even _you_ does that during breaks.” A sip from his tall glass of orange juice. “Though, after reviewing the other options, I’m starting to reconsider.”

“What are the other options?”

“Number one,” he starts counting with his fingers, “sleep. Number two, stay at the tower, fixing whatever there is to fix. Number three… pray and meditate.” And then, a silly smile appears in his face. “Or number four, ask Dr. Enomoto out on a date.”

Junmyeon laughs a strained laugh, feeling very uncomfortable. He still hasn’t had the guts to tell Chanyeol about Boston, waiting for the right time, but, giving how often Chanyeol mentions Enomoto – he is completely infatuated for her – that time might be right now.

“Haven’t you had lunch with her once?” Junmyeon has a cowardly heart. It can’t be now. It can’t be now…

“Sandwiches. And we ate at the lab. That was, like, the quickest and most unromantic lunch ever,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “I want to take her to a real restaurant, and show off my knowledge on Brazilian food.”

Junmyeon laughs humorlessly. “You’ll end up taking her here,” he comments. “It’s the only ‘real restaurant’ you know.”

“To be frank… I invited her to come here today.” Chanyeol glances at his wristwatch, and Junmyeon feels a cold feeling of dread run up his spine. “Told her to come have lunch with us. It’s quite late, though, I’m assuming she won’t come.”

Junmyeon knows what he has to do.

He just doesn’t know where to start, so he asks, “did you tell her about me?”

Chanyeol shoots him what resembles an outraged look. Junmyeon sweats.

“Who do you take me for? Of course I did!” Another forkful of moqueca meets its destiny in Chanyeol’s mouth. “Told her about this handsome, smart young priest that went around teaching children how to read and helping the poor. She might’ve pictured you as a literal saint. You know that one that’s painted, like, with the small animals and all?” He claps. “That one.”

Junmyeon smiles sadly. “I’m quite sure that’s not how she pictures me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Chanyeol brushes him off. “Quit the humble bull. One’d think you’re aussie from the amout of tall poppy shit you say.”

“This isn’t exactly ‘tall poppy shit’, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon confesses, looking down to his empty plate, and he knows he now attracted Chanyeol’s attention. He hardly ever curses, even if just repeating someone’s words. “I… about Dr. Enomoto…”

Junmyeon pauses, searching for the right words, and mustering courage to speak. However, he pauses for too long. Chanyeol is too smart to wait, and, after a mere couple of seconds, the engines in his brain click, and he jumps.

“Wait,” he exclaims, and Junmyeon looks up, slightly startled. “Waaaaait. No way.” Chanyeol is backing away from Junmyeon, the perfect portrait of a shocked person. “Wait, Junmyeon. Don’t tell me you know Dr. Enomoto. Don’t tell me it was her who did your AI project!”

Junmyeon only winces. Chanyeol screams.

“YOU BASTARD! Why didn’t you tell me!?” Everyone in the restaurant is looking at them now. Junmyeon gets a bitter sensation of déjà vu. “So you already know each other! Oh, Junmyeon, I’m gonna fucking _murder_ you!”

“Listen, I was trying to tell,” Junmyeon justifies in an apologetic manner. “I just—didn’t know how!”

“Well, why not just blurt it out? It’s an idea!” Fortunately, Chanyeol doesn’t look too upset; just surprised. “Why would you be so embarrassed to tell me about this? Do you not like her or something?”

Junmyeon winces again. Chanyeol’s jaw drops.

“No way—”

“It’s not that I don’t like her!” Junmyeon is quick to explain this time. “We… had a fall-out. It was mostly my fault.” Junmyeon rubs his temples at the memory. Antarctica really did him good, character-wise. “I was an idiot. We parted in a really bad note.”

“Oh,” says Chanyeol, frowning sadly. He looks disappointed. Junmyeon hates that look on him. “That’s… bad. I hope she doesn’t hold a grudge.”

“I’m not sure if it’s a matter of grudge…”

“Good afternoon.” A sweet, melodic voice interrupts them, and both Chanyeol and Junmyeon jump in a violent scare, since both of them know who that voice belongs to. They turn around at the same time, slowly, and, sure enough, there she is; Enomoto Mitsuki, standing a few meters away from them, approaching in slow, deliberate steps.

“Sorry for being late,” she says, putting a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “I was sorting out some data. Ended up taking longer than I intended.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry! Here, have a seat,” always the gentleman, Chanyeol sprints up immediately, pulling the chair next to him for Enomoto to sit. “I’ll—uh…”

“I’ll order,” Junmyeon offers, already getting up.

“It’s fine, I’ll go,” Enomoto stops him, starting to get up herself.

“But you just sat down!” It’s Chanyeol who stops her this time. “Okay, I… uh…” he glances back and forth between Junmyeon and Enomoto, clearly worried. “I’ll—I’ll go get the menu real quick!”

And so he does, hopping off his chair as if it’s on fire and rushing to the counter.

Heavy silence falls over the table, and Junmyeon thinks, searches his brain for anything to say. In his search, he briefly observes her, noticing how different she looks by simply adapting to the environment. In Boston, she was always dressed austerely, but in a cosmopolitan way; greys and blacks, high-heels and sleek hair. Here, in Manaus, she’s in khakis. It’s a sight he had never expected to see.

“Dr. Park told me,” she speaks up suddenly, terrifying Junmyeon out of his trance. “That you teach children to read at a local school.”

Junmyeon blinks. “Uh.” He’s not sure where she’s trying to get, but decides to comply. “Yes, I do.”

“Interesting.” It’s like they’re collecting data once again. She’s miles away from him, mind-wise. Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a grudge. It feels rather familiar, actually. “Very interesting.”

“Here it is!” Chanyeol, for better or for worse, shatters the moment by arriving with the menu. “It’s all in Portuguese, of course, but, if there’s something you don’t know there, you can ask us! Father Kim here and I have probably tried everything in they have.” He beams at Junmyeon, oddly sincere.

Enomoto accepts the menu with a graceful ‘thank you’, but, once she takes a look at it, she snorts. “I actually don’t know any of these.”

“Oh! Okay then. This one is made with duck…” Always the gentleman, that Chanyeol. Junmyeon notices his arm casually draped over the backrest of Enomoto’s chair, and decides to allow his mind to wander away from there.

 

 

Lunch is terribly awkward, but, for all it’s worth, it’s not as awkward as Junmyeon thought it would’ve been.

It turns out that Chanyeol and Enomoto have a very good relationship with each other. When Chanyeol explains the menu items to Enomoto, she laughs, and makes her own jokes here and there. When he starts telling a story about the first time he ate alligator meat, she’s very interactive, paying close attention to the story, one that Junmyeon himself has heard over and over again. When Chanyeol asks her about her day in the lab, she _talks_ , she talks about the lab, the computers, the people, the extremely potent air-conditioning.

It’s like this Enomoto Mitsuki is a completely different person from the one Junmyeon met three years ago.

And it’s terrifying, but it’s also wonderful, in its own way.

They finish eating lunch at two in the afternoon. It’s about time for Junmyeon to go to school, to teach his afternoon classes, so, when Chanyeol insists in paying all of the bill by himself, he, for once, doesn’t discuss.

“Finally!” Chanyeol commemorates. “It’s such a pain to convince this guy to let me pay, like, every time. You’re a priest, Junmyeon, it’s just _wrong_ to make priests pay bills.”

Enomoto grins, giving Junmyeon a slightly mocking once over. “Should we share?” she asks Chanyeol.

“Absolutely not!” He widens his eyes, almost offended. “No, I’ll pay. You people! Wait for me outside, I’ll be right back.”

And he dashes towards the counter, leaving, once again, Junmyeon and Enomoto alone together.

This time, however, there’s a different sort of tension in the air. Junmyeon doesn’t know if he just didn’t notice, or if it changed during their meal, but… the atmosphere feels less belligerent between them. Should he risk saying something? He should pick his words very, very well.

“What are you thinking so hard about, Father Kim?” she asks suddenly, cutting off his line of thought. He looks up, questioning, searching, and she meets his gaze with her own – pure defiance.

He averts his eyes. “How to apologize.”

The confession is met with some surprise by Enomoto. Her silence urges him on. “For being terrible to you,” is what he follows up with. “That day in Boston. It was uncalled for. I’m sorry, doctor.”

Silence comes, once more, as Junmyeon supposed it would. He fears what comes next, though; anger? Disgust? Rejection? Or, perhaps, acceptance?

Enomoto, too, direct her eyes to the floor. She’s wearing fabric shoes, like Chanyeol. Flats.

“It might’ve been uncalled for,” she says at last, fingers fiddling with the hem of her blouse. “But it was true.”

At that, Junmyeon looks up to face her, not quite believing what he just heard.

“It was true. It is,” she corrects herself. “What I do, my job… it is, as your put, intellectual prostitution.”

Junmyeon makes a face, and is ready to apologize for that particular term, but she carries on. “And I _am_ indebted with my benefactor. I was made a slave; the more I work, the bigger my debt becomes.”

“That is illegal,” Junmyeon objects weakly.

“It is.” Enomoto takes a deep breath, raising her eyes, from her feet to the vast, cloudless blue sky. “But he’s a protégé of the law. Legal or illegal, it doesn’t matter to him. But I’ll tell you something: when I told you this is the most I’ve ever had, I was not lying.” She kicks a pebble distractedly. It rolls a couple of inches forward, landing on dirt with a dull sound. “I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the deal with him. I just—I had no choice.”

Her voice quivers. Junmyeon glances at her with worry, already thinking of manners to comfort her if she happens to cry. It’s the very least he can do, after what he’s done.

“It was right after the Saitama fires. I was just fifteen.” A cold realization hits Junmyeon like a drum. “Everyone knew, everyone could _tell_ I’m Korean…”

“Enomoto,” Junmyeon calls, hesitates, before putting a hand on her shoulder; a light touch, barely there, meant to be reassuring. “It’s okay… you don’t need to tell me anything. I was wrong to assume…”

“But I want to tell you,” she cuts him off, solitary tears wetting her lower lashes. “I want you to know. To understand. And… it’s like I’m reassuring myself. That I’m not in this business because I want to.”

Junmyeon casts a sad, sympathetic glance over her, and drops his hand.

“They were five. Five men. I… you know about the case of Junko Furuta?”

Junmyeon pales. “The concrete-encased schoolgirl.”

“Yeah. One of them was obsessed with that case. He described it to me in detail.” She takes a deep breath, trembling, fragile like Junmyeon had never dreamed of seeing her. “They planned to replicate the murder on me. I was there for almost a week. But then… my benefactor showed up.” As if reliving the memories, she regains some strength upon saying that, straightening her spine, toughening her expression. “He’s a member of a criminal organization. Coincidently, we were in their area.”

The yakuza! Junmyeon shakes his head. “And what happened to your tormentors?”

“The organization handled them,” she says simply, and Junmyeon winces, having visions of the ocean. “I never asked about what happened to them. I feel no compassion.”

“You aren’t obliged to,” Junmyeon assures her, touching, very lightly, her elbow, to show her support. She looks at him with confusion.

“Aren’t you a priest? Shouldn’t you be preaching about forgiveness, and kindness of heart?”

“For that, I should preach to the culprits first,” he remarks, chuckling quietly. “About how one shouldn’t commit horrendous crimes against people because of their ethnicity.”

His sentence is followed with silence, and in silence they stay for a while. Across the street, in an empty lot, children play soccer with a battered plastic ball, screaming and laughing as they run barefoot on the dirt and clay. It’s a surprisingly calming sound – either that, or the air between Junmyeon and Enomoto really is lighter, much lighter.

“Isn’t Chanyeol taking a little too long…?” Junmyeon asks no one in particular, peeking into the restaurant – and, as if by magic, his head almost collides with Chanyeol himself, who’s just walking through the door.

“Hey! I heard my name,” he accuses, pocketing the one hundred of little pieces of paper anyone receives upon paying for goods in Brazil. “What were you saying about me? Are you trying to defame me in front of Dr. Enomoto?”

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “What took you so long?”

“Mr. Rogério. He talks a lot,” Chanyeol remarks with wide eyes. Mr. Rogério owns the place, along with his wife, Dona Lucinha. Both of them are very lively, very talkative people. “Sorry that I kept you waiting. Shall we go?”

“We’ll part ways now, then,” Junmyeon communicates Enomoto, who seems a little surprised. “I still have classes to teach at school.” He reaches forward a hand, for her to shake. “It was good seeing you again, doctor.”

A graceful smile lights up her face. “Likewise.” There’s a hint of mockery in her voice, in the way she shakes his hand, but it’s good-spirited. Somehow, as easily as saying ‘sorry’, their fight is now in the past, and there it will stay. “Have a good day at school.”

“Same for you, at the lab,” Junmyeon replies, glancing at Chanyeol. The scientist is looking elsewhere, doing a great impression of a streetlamp; giving both of them space. Junmyeon shakes his head, and claps Chanyeol’s shoulder with, perhaps, unnecessary force. “You too, Dr. Park.”

Chanyeol startles, his glasses almost falling off his face. He catches them just in time. “Sure, thank you! Have a blast at school. Are you coming to the lab tonight?”

Junmyeon stops, and thinks. He glances at Chanyeol, and then at Dr. Enomoto. She might be much shorter than him, but, other than that, they look very alike. The light, plain clothes. The fabric shoes. The unruly hair. The glasses…

He smiles. “No, not tonight. I’ll conduct a circle prayer at the school.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol doesn’t look as disappointed as he’d usually be. “Okay. See you tomorrow then!”

“See you.” He bids them goodbye, turning around to start his path towards the school.

He walks all the way there without glancing back.


	8. Outskirts of Manaus, February 13, 2082. - Turning Point #1: Distant Star.

It happens at early, early morning on February 14, 2082. It’s early enough that it could’ve been called, instead of early morning of the 14th, late night of the 13th, hadn’t it been over midnight. Chanyeol, who still hadn’t gone to sleep when it happened, still remembers it as the 13th, constantly being corrected by the rest of the crew.

It happens like this:

The Tower, as everyone calls it, is more than Chanyeol’s work place. It’s the CNPE’s core building. All the other installations, the labs, the offices, everything – all of the center was constructed for its sake. It’s also the reason why the center is so carefully isolated; after all, to capture radio emissions from space, even the slightest interference can ruin a collection, and, depending on the situation, a particular sign can be lost forever.

The thing is, the equipment that composes the tower is mostly either very old or built, DIY-style, by scientists like Chanyeol. In the inside, the tower is an ungodly mess of cables, unlabeled devices, and the correct way to operate that paraphernalia is, as confirmed by many, ‘by instinct’.

Chanyeol has the best instinct. That’s why he’s the only one working there permanently; others come and go, the administration sends all the new recruits to the tower while they figure what to do with them. It’s a second-rate job. Only for novices. Chanyeol rolls his eyes to himself when he remembers the things he’s heard from his _colleagues_.

Truth is, since no one quite knows what to do with the equipment, working up there requires some creativity. They receive thousands and thousands of signals every day, all of which are to be sorted out and researched. More often than not, such signals are Earthly things, radio waves bouncing around in the atmosphere, but those are easy to discard, because their shape and pattern are familiar to… anyone who works with this kind of thing.

When an unknown wave is captured, though, you have to sort it out, discover what it is, where it comes from, what it’s about… so, to properly analyze the caption, you need to get the wave through all sorts of filters.

The filters are a nightmare.

They are a nightmare to operate. There are too many details, too many variants, too many possibilities. That’s when creativity comes in; it’s a whole lot of time tweaking, playing with the wave, making up what-ifs and acting on them. Fortunately, Chanyeol had always been a creative person, and likes very much to play with machines, which might’ve made him the perfect man for the job.

It was 2 AM of February 14, 2082, and he was the last man standing at the CNPE. Even the most resilient ones had called it a night, and surrendered to a fitful, brief night of sleep at the center’s simple accommodations. Chanyeol, however, had been born a night owl, and there he was, up in the tower, having fun with the filters and waves and the yellowed, bulky equipment.

At a certain point, a couple of new signs began showing up in the capture computer, which wasn’t exactly new or surprising, but Chanyeol was mildly excited to have new playthings in his hands. He started filtering the first one almost absent-mindedly, thinking of a gallant way to ask Dr. Enomoto out on a date for the Carnaval break.

However, as soon as the filter started running, he noticed something, and frowned.

Something was different about this one.

Or rather, something was familiar. The pattern… his hands raced towards the keyboard, setting new parameters, running the filter again, now slightly tweaked, and he observed.

It couldn’t be…

The capture computer had traced its approximated origin, offering further information in case Chanyeol bothered to check. He didn’t. Instead, in a feverish impulse, he reached for his bag, and fished, out of the old, battered backpack, his earphones.

And that’s how Junmyeon ends up being woken up by a 3 AM call. It takes a little over four rings for him to rise, but he does, which is what matters, and he picks up.

“Hello, Kim Junmyeon speaking.” He always says hello in English at the phone, since ninety percent of the calls he receives are either from Chanyeol or the society.

“ _Hey, it’s me_ ,” Chanyeol answers, and his voice is characteristic enough for Junmyeon to know it’s him. “ _You won’t believe it. I just accidentally made the most fantastic and exciting discovery in the modern history of Astronomy._ ”

Junmyeon barely understands a word. He frowns. “What? You accidentally what? Is it another snake?”

“ _No! Ah, for fuck’s sake_ ,” he whines, and Junmyeon understands less and less, because he starts becoming more aware of what time it is, and it’s starting to worry him. “ _Can you come to the lab? Like, right now? I could pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?_ ”

At that, some of Junmyeon’s sleepiness fades. “Chanyeol, it’s late. I don’t think there are any boats available right now. Besides, is it safe for anyone to be outside at this time?”

“ _Okay, settled. I’m picking you up_.” And he hangs up.

Junmyeon is frightened by the possibilities.

 

And it turns out that, when Chanyeol said that he had made a fantastic, exciting discovery, he hadn’t been lying, or exaggerating.

Because he, Dr. Noah Chanyeol Park, up-and-rising astronomer of unparalleled talent, had discovered music.

Music, coming from a distant, distant place in the universe.


	9. Busan, February 9, 2127. - Awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update! i was posting the chapters faster than i was writing them tbh. with the updates coming closer to what i'm currently writing, i became nervous. everything is under control now, though. enjoy!

“… hallucinating!”

“Call the doctor, quick!”

“Father Kim Jongdae…”

“Hurry, for God’s sake, hurry!”

In all but a second, Baekhyun rises from his sleep, blinking in minor startle. The initial disorientation, the one all humans feel when forcefully woken up, affects him particularly strong this time; for a moment, he can’t even remember his own name. Once his body catches up with his awakeness, though, the sensation wears off, and full conscience rushes to him.

Ah, yes, his name is Byun Baekhyun, and he’s a Jesuit. He’s in Busan for an important task. And there’s something very wrong going on.

Slowly, he sits up, the leather couch squeaking and croaking under his weight. He had slept in the entrance hall, due to the lack of rooms; out of the three bedrooms in the house, one was turned into Do Kyungsoo’s office, another became the staff's headquarters, and, in the other, slept Kim Junmyeon. It didn’t bother him; weren’t to sleep many hours anyway, as the plan would be put in motion early next morning, so sleeping in a common area shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.

Shouldn’t _have_ been. By looking around, he confirms that the uproar that woke him up is still going on, and that there’s a lot going on – all the staff running up and downstairs, shouting orders to one another almost hysterically. Confused, Baekhyun gets to his feet.

“Father Byun!” A man calls for him when climbing down the stairs. “Please help us! Father Kim Junmyeon is delirious, and we can’t find Father Kim Jongdae!”

“Jongdae is gone?” This is what confuses him the most. What could he be doing out in the middle of the night? Also, it’s interesting that they staff calls for Jongdae specifically. Seems like he's been doing a good job of watching over Kim Junmyeon. “Very well. How can I help?”

“Father Kim Jongdae… talks to him when he’s like this,” the man instructs, sounding quite unsure himself. “I don’t know how he does it, but we have to do something. The medicine takes time to kick in, and…”

“I’ll help,” Baekhyun assures him immediately, straightening his spine and making an attempt at fixing his rebellious hair. “If Jongdae can do it, it mustn’t be that hard.” And he strides up the stairs.

The sounds he hears as he ascends up the stairs may not be enough to make him falter, but they sure are disturbing. It reminds him of Bangladesh, of the drug-addicted youths in rehab, screaming and writhing in pain as their bodies expulsed the toxins. Only, this time, on top of having the distinguishable timber of agony to it, the voice Baekhyun hears talks in tongues, vomiting words furiously enough to drown the voices of the staff members.

Without hesitation, without even pausing his step, Baekhyun steps in.

As expected, it’s a frightening scene.

Kim Junmyeon, now that Baekhyun takes a closer look, is thin. Emaciated. There’s barely any flesh in him, his greyish-pale skin stretching over protruding bones. His lips are pale too, almost blue, like a corpse’s – but his eyes… in contrast with his decaying body, his eyes are red, vivid, brutally alive.

And his hands. Baekhyun has seen it on TV, the pictures in the internet, but seeing it live… it’s when he sees them that he hesitates, faltering in his usually decisive step, fear threatening to rise up his throat.

It’s just for a fraction of second, though; Baekhyun is a very brave man. Before anyone even notices his presence, he chins up, and approaches the bed.

“Father Byun, no!” A staff member screams. “He could hurt you!”

Baekhyun ignores him. “Father Kim Junmyeon,” he calls, and the priest, thrashing violently in the firm hold of four adults, looks up at him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Byun Baekhyun, from the Society.”

His movements slowly come to a pause, muscles twitching brusquely even as the voluntary movement stops. His eyes, mad, fixated, stare right into Baekhyun’s own. And then – after a second of stillness, of tension – he huffs.

“The Society.” He huffs again, this time closer to a scoff. “And what does the Society want with me?”

He speaks in English. Baekhyun replies in English. “Well, Father,” he starts off with a small smile. “You’re part of the Society. We’re your brothers, and we came to help.”

“My brothers!” Kim Junmyeon shouts, and now he laughs, a crazy, mocking cackle. Almost cruel. “My brothers! Will you stand for me in front of our father, my brother? Will you defend me?” And he makes a series of questions switching back and forth between languages Baekhyun doesn’t know, limbs once again jerking to the sides, until his entire body convulses on the mattress.

Baekhyun can only watch the man in silence, his shrill voice echoing in his ears. That’s until he says: “A beautiful family, we are! Wonderful, wonderful family!” And Baekhyun widens his eyes, because that’s Brazilian Portuguese! A language he speaks! He is almost relieved to follow the change.

“We will defend you,” he says, almost, in a thoughtless gesture, putting his hand over Junmyeon’s. He avoids the touch by a fraction of second. “If I have to, I will defend you in front of God. But I will also help you to purify your soul, to find _peace_ , Kim Junmyeon. This is what I’m here for.”

When Junmyeon hears that, he freezes. His movements stop completely, eyes wide, completely focused on Baekhyun’s figure. The silence sounds horrible, ominous.

And then, he starts to go limp. He shrinks, and sinks into the staff member’s hold, slowly melting onto the mattress of his bed. His eyes now are on the ceiling, unfocused, and he breathes loud and hard.

He suddenly turns to Mrs. Pyo, who held his right shoulder. “He speaks Portuguese.”

Mrs. Pyo, visibly relieved to be spoken to in Korean, rubs the priest’s shoulder in a comforting motion. “Father Byun is Brazilian. You can speak to him every time you want to speak Portuguese. Right, Father Byun?”

“That’s right.”

Junmyeon seems not to have heard them. That’s until he turns to Mrs. Pyo once again, and says, “he’s Brazilian.”

“Yes, father, he is.” There’s sadness in Mrs. Pyo voice.

It’s like all the manic energy has been sucked from Junmyeon’s body. He just lies there, limp, pale, looking at the ceiling in contemplative horror. Baekhyun allows himself to wonder, for a second, if crises like this are frequent. If they are…

“Where from?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, roughened by his certainly sore throat. It takes Baekhyun a moment to realize the question was directed to him. “Where in Brazil?”

“Belém,” Baekhyun answers conversationally. “It’s in the north.”

“The north.” A weak, barely audible huff. “ _The north_.”

Then, he falls completely silent, and starts crying. The tears roll down his face, quiet, suddenly incessant; and he makes no sound. No sobs. No screams. Even his breathing is quiet, a faint whisper in his chest. The staff release him, and exchange looks with Baekhyun.

“The medicine must’ve kicked in,” a young woman, who had been holding his right leg, says.

“It must have,” Baekhyun agrees, watching Junmyeon cry. He feels a terrible feeling of pity inside of his chest. “Well… at least he’s harmless in this state.”

Everyone agrees. Some seem as saddened as him; some, not so much.

“He will fall asleep soon,” a man dressed in white speaks, and only now does Baekhyun notice his presence. Probably the doctor who monitors Junmyeon’s condition, he thinks.

“Thank you for helping us, Dr. Peters,” Mrs. Pyo bows humbly. “And we are sorry to have woken you up.”

“It was for a good cause. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need help,” says Dr. Peters, gathering his things. “I believe it’d be the best for all of us to go to bed now.”

“Shouldn’t someone stay to watch him?” The young man who had been holding the left leg – he mustn’t be older than eighteen – asks timidly.

“It’d be convenient,” Dr. Peters agrees. “But, if I’m not mistaken, all of us will have an early morning tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay,” Baekhyun volunteers. All eyes turn to him. “I shouldn’t go back to sleep now, or I might miss my time when morning comes. I must be up much earlier than you.”

A general exchange of looks. They seem to be silently debating Baekhyun’s suggestion, if it’s right, if it’s safe.

Then, after a moment of deliberation, Mrs. Pyo nods. “You’re right,” she says. “You were of more use than all of us together tonight. Thank you, Father Byun. We appreciate all of your help.”

“I’m at your service.” Baekhyun bows. “Have a good night of sleep, all of you.”

Amidst ‘thank you’s and ‘goodnight’s, the staff members and the doctor exit the room, one by one.

There’s a sofa in one corner of the room, a modern, well designed thing that Baekhyun takes for a seat. From there, he has a very good vision of Father Kim Junmyeon, who still lies motionless on the bed, tears falling from his eyes; he observes, the feeling of pity tightening in his chest. How can so many bad things happen to one single man?

Suddenly, Junmyeon turns his head to face him.

“How are the snakes?” he asks in Korean.

Baekhyun blinks. “Very well,” he replies after a moment of thought. Snakes. Of course, being from the North, when one says ‘snakes’… “Healthy. Some of them are at risk of extinction, but people respect them, and there are some conservation efforts…”

He does wonder why he’s being asked about snakes, and if he’s giving the right answer, but, outwardly, he shows no feelings of doubt.

Junmyeon sighs. There are tear streaks on his cheeks, still. “Look.” To Baekhyun’s horror, he raises one hand, which hangs unnaturally limp from his wrist. “Do you like them?”

Baekhyun tastes bile in his mouth. He swallows nervously. “They’re… exquisite,” he says, voice quivering very slightly.

The priest hums, casting his own hand a vague, contemplative look. “The pleats of devotion,” he mutters absentmindedly.

It confuses Baekhyun, but he chooses to say nothing. A moment later, Junmyeon drops his deformed hand back onto the bed, and quickly falls asleep.

 

 

Jongdae arrives a couple of hours later, sweating and panting. By the time he comes, Baekhyun is playing with his cellphone, challenging himself in a difficult action game, and Jongdae’s arrival distracts him so much that he accidentally loses a round.

“I was,” Jongdae says among heavy, exhausted breathing. “I was… renting a wheelchair…”

Baekhyun blinks. Then, when he understands, he laughs out loud, almost loud enough to wake Junmyeon up.

“You didn’t miss much.” He closes the game. “He flailed around a lot, I came and spoke Portuguese with him. When he found out I’m Brazilian, he calmed down.”

Jongdae grimaces, and Baekhyun frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“How was his reaction when he found out?”

“He calmed down. Started crying.”

Jongdae’s grimace intensifies. He casts a glance upon Junmyeon’s sleeping figure. “He was in Brazil when Jurupari was discovered. I wonder if it brought him bad memories.”

Baekhyun widens his eyes. That’s right! Jurupari, the inhabited planet of the Alpha Centauri system, was discovered in Brazilian lands. Now that he’s seen Jongdae’s point, he, too, grimaces. “I had forgotten about that. He also asked about the snakes. And…” but when it comes to talking about the hands, Baekhyun’s throat tightens.

If Jongdae notices his hesitancy, he doesn’t mention. All he does is to gaze wistfully at Junmyeon. “Poor brother,” he says in a mutter, almost to himself. “I can’t imagine all the things he has gone through.”

“And the media paints him as a monster.” A pause. A moment of silence, during which both watch Kim Junmyeon in his deep slumber. “Do you think the reports are true? The ones by the American mission…”

Jongdae sighs, tired, and thoughtful. Crossing his arms, he confesses, “I do.”

Baekhyun raises his brows. “You do?”

“I do, but I think we must hear his side of the story.” He adds, and Baekhyun comprehends. “I mean… I might be being foolish, believing in first impressions, but… when I look at this man, I don’t see someone who could’ve taken a life without a reason.”

An agreeing nod from Baekhyun. “I see what you mean.” It’s not about his appearance; he certainly was in a better condition, physically speaking, five years ago, when he was rescued. It’s about the fact that the same reports that tell of him committing murder with his bare hands also tell of him being in a terrible condition, mentally speaking. _He was hallucinating, speaking in tongues, in a constant state of stupor_. To Baekhyun, it just doesn’t add up.

Jongdae checks his time in his cellphone. “It’s almost time,” he announces, and that catches Baekhyun by surprise.

“Already?”

“Time flies, right?” Jongdae gives Baekhyun a small smile. It’s a very brief smile, though, as it fades away once he glances at Junmyeon once again. “I should wake him up.”

“You should. I’ll assume my position.” Baekhyun starts his walk towards the door, only stopping to give Jongdae an encouraging clap on the back. “Good luck.”

“Same to you,” Jongdae nods. “Much more to you, in fact.”

 

 

As soon as the sun rises, the plan is put in motion.

Baekhyun is the first one to move. He has to, first of all, fetch his suitcase at the hotel, and to check out, which takes longer than he’d wish to. Once that is finished, he rushes, suitcase in hands and robes fluttering with his every step, to fetch a car.

The car is waiting for him at the church, just as planned. A tall, elegant man passes him the keys, and, after a brief thank you, Baekhyun enters the car, and starts the engine.

He has driven one single time in his life, at fifteen years old, when his father tried to teach him how to drive. He did fairly well back then, but that was the last time he touched a car, and now he’s thirty years old. Also, he doesn’t have a license.

God is in charge. Baekhyun takes off.

His faith is rewarded with a completely uneventful ride. There’s barely anyone in the streets, which helps, but the fact that he didn’t hit a streetlamp or spontaneously climb over a sidewalk is a small miracle by itself. He reaches the house in a couple of minutes, clumsily stopping in front of the main gate, and taking a deep breath.

Now, comes the risky part.

Busan isn’t Rome, but the media is everywhere, as seen by Baekhyun the day before. The sharks are in for blood, and it’s Junmyeon’s blood they want – an easy prey, a weakened man, who’s been out of grace years ago and now is close enough to be accused and crucified. The Jesuit operation can’t afford being found out, much less being followed. This time, it has to be clean.

Baekhyun waits. It’s Jongdae’s cue.

As if summoned by Baekhyun’s thoughts, Jongdae walks through the door. Pushing in front of him, there’s a hooded person, head hanging low, fingerless gloves over his hands. Perfect. Junmyeon looks unidentifiable, just a regular sick person.

“Everything alright?” Baekhyun asks, exiting the car to help him. Together, both of them raise Junmyeon from the wheelchair, carefully helping him to climb onto the car. Baekhyun is unsure whether Junmyeon is asleep or not. He could be dead, judging by how quiet he is. The thought makes a chill creep under Baekhyun’s skin.

Once Junmyeon is in the car, as well as the now folded wheelchair, Baekhyun takes the passenger seat, while Jongdae assumes the driver position.

“Do you drive, Jongdae?” Baekhyun asks, putting his seatbelt on.

“Yeah, sometimes. I’m the designed driver at my current congregation.” Relief. “But I won’t lie to you, I’m scared. I’ve never driven so far away before.”

“Jongdae,” comes a voice from the backseat, startling Baekhyun. When he looks back, Junmyeon is sitting up straight, legs crossed, looking almost normal under his hood. “Where are we going?”

“To a hideaway in Jeju, Father,” answers Jongdae dutifully. “The air there is pure, we’re going there to help you to recover.”

“I see.” Junmyeon’s voice is unimaginably lucid. He doesn’t sound like the same man who, barely hours before, had a crisis so violent he needed to be restrained by four people. “And to run away from the media.”

“That too,” Jongdae agrees, a bit saddened. “But our focus is your health, of course.”

Baekhyun himself has his doubts about that, but he chooses not to voice them.

Instead, he asks, “if you feel motion sickness, Father, I can lend you some medicine. I have an entire drugstore in my suitcase.”

“I’ll pass. If I feel anything, I’ll try to toughen it out,” Junmyeon replies politely. “I’m quite tired of taking medicine.”

Relatable, to a degree. Junmyeon is completely silent for the rest of the ride.


	10. Outskirts of Manaus, February 14, 2082. - Within this lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo yall! finally a juicier update. got cramps on me thumb from selecting all this text. hope you enjoy!

Junmyeon had never gone up to the tower before, and he didn’t expect it to be so… cramped.

Or maybe, it isn't ctually cramped. Yes, it has bulky equipment inside, but maybe he’s only getting the impression that it’s cramped because, at the moment, there are four people inside, craning their necks over a particular computer.

It’s Chanyeol, Enomoto, and Mr. Ishiyama, besides Junmyeon himself, listening, for the first time, to Chanyeol’s fantastic, exciting discovery.

And, to be frank, it is nothing less than fantastic and exciting. In fact, it’s more, much more, than that

“What is this sound?” Mr. Ishiyama listens with intent, eyes gleaming. “It’s—it’s superb! The ring of it, it’s like nothing I’ve heard before!”

“The song – the excerpt that reached us, at least – is entirely played in microtones,” Chanyeol explains, trembling from excitement. “It’s what makes it sound so otherworldly. Think sitars, it’s the same effect.”

But what entices Junmyeon the most isn’t the beautiful melody, the exquisite instruments – but yes, the voice.

The fact that there’s singing, by itself, is the main factor on why this find is so revolutionary; it denounces a similarity between the species that have broadcast this song and humans. And, according to Chanyeol’s calculus and research, the signal most probably came from somewhere in the Alpha Centauri system. So close! Life outside Earth was so close, after all!

But more than just being awed at the discovery, Junmyeon is awed at that voice. The singing technique resembles traditional Japanese music, as well as the Brazilian repente, more spoken than sung, maintaining one single note for a long time, and making profuse use of vibrato. It’s hypnotizing, full of _feeling_.

A surge of emotions threatens to bring tears to Junmyeon’s eyes, swelling and swelling in his chest. He barely resists.

“This is a discovery of unparalleled importance, Dr. Noah,” Mr. Ishiyama declares, absolutely amazed. “It’s hard to even put into words how important this is. It’s—it’s of _historical_ importance.” The man is bursting with excitement. It’s hard to know who’s the most excited, he or Chanyeol. “From now on, the CNPE shall work with all its efforts towards a mission to this planet!”

“Wait, wait,” Chanyeol breaks, widening his eyes. “Seriously?!”

“Absolutely serious! Why? Isn’t this the logical next step?” He starts walking around the room. “We might’ve found alien form of life! A civilization, one advanced enough to have music! The next thing to do is to reach for them, to make contact.”

“We could send them a radio emission,” Enomoto speaks for the first time since entering the tower. “Let them know we’re here.”

“It could take centuries to reach them,” Mr. Ishiyama dismisses the possibility with a hand gesture. “We’re aiming for something immediate. Come on, don’t you guys want to see this happen while you’re alive? Let’s aim for it!”

There’s a moment of silence after Mr. Ishiyama’s brief speech. Chanyeol and Enomoto are clearly hesitant, knowing of all the possibilities of failure. Junmyeon, on the other side…

“Mr. Ishiyama,” he speaks out unexpectedly, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. His tone is solemn. “I ask you for permission to tell my superiors about this discovery. The Society will be more than glad to join efforts with the lab to make the mission to this planet possible.”

“The Society?” Chanyeol frowns.

“Yes. The Jesuits were known for being pioneers in exploring unknown lands,” Junmyeon explains, hiding his excitement behind placidity. “They’ll be thrilled to hear about the possibility of a virgin civilization. And we might not be as numerous as we once were, but we still have money. And influence.”

Mr. Ishiyama, who has stopped walking around, smiles widely. He has a keen expression on his face, like the one of a cat who has just found a barrel full of fish.

“Then, Father, I say go ahead. It’ll be a pleasure to do business with you.” He reaches a hand forward.

Junmyeon shakes it without hesitation. And that is how, full of uncertainties and still in need of a whole lot of research, the mission towards the mysterious song is decided.

“Well, we should clean up this place a little bit! Since Dr. Noah here will have so much work to do from now on…”

“Uh…” Chanyeol was quite obviously caught by surprise by that one. “I… suppose I have to find a route to wherever the music came from.”

“Yes,” Mr. Ishiyama confirms. “Or else, it’ll be pointless to organize a mission, right?”

“And we should find an efficient transportation,” Enomoto raises his hand to suggest. “Alpha Centauri is almost five light years away from Earth. We should aim to travel at a minimum of half the speed of light.”

“ _What_ ,” at each thing said, Chanyeol looks more jarred. “Look—I’m not saying it’s impossible, nothing is impossible—but a minimum of half the speed of light…”

“Bare minimum. If we take ten years to reach the planet, we might never make it back to Earth alive,” Enomoto deadpans, not budging.

Junmyeon, who starts understanding nothing about that conversation once they start discussing rockets, meteors, and time dilatation, excuses himself back to his shelter. It’s dangerous outside at this hour, and he’s still suspicious about the availability of boats, but he has to go. He has to make some calls.

 

 

Junmyeon had never imagined how much his life would change in 2082.

For a month and some, he was just an elementary school teacher and local priest, doing his best to help the inhabitants of the village, enjoying lunches with his scientist friend. Then, suddenly, February 14 happened – and everything was turned on its heads.

To begin with, the Society had been skeptic about Junmyeon’s info, and he and Chanyeol had to slave over the equipment at the tower to determine a more concrete probability of where the emission had come from. Chanyeol did and redid and re-redid his calculi, and the conclusion was as exact as it could be with the provided data.

“It almost-definitely came from the Alpha Centauri system,” Chanyeol diagnoses, red-eyed, and Junmyeon snorts.

“Almost-definitely,” he repeats.

“Nothing is exact in astronomy. Don’t believe anything you don’t see with your own eyes,” retorts Chanyeol rather darkly.

Junmyeon goes as far as going to Manaus to email the current Superior General a written copy of Chanyeol’s research, kindly put together by Enomoto. It was then, and only then, that they believed him, and the excitement began, as he knew it would.

“To handle the logistic aspects of the mission, I’ll tell Mr. Ishiyama from the CNPE to contact you,” Junmyeon told the Superior General.

“Do exactly that. We will handle everything from now on.” The Superior General, an elderly Italian man of sharp spirit, replies to him. “You’ve done a great job, Father Kim. In fact, you’ve been doing a good job for a while now, and if we get any say on the crew members, you’ll be in it.”

Junmyeon’s throat tightens. “Sir—”

“I should hang up to let you sleep now.” He puts a final tone to it. “Goodnight, Father Kim.”

And he hangs up, not even giving time to Junmyeon to tell him that the mission might not be manned at all.

Actually, Enomoto and Mr. Ishiyama had a discussion – a quite heated one, from what Chanyeol reported to Junmyeon over the phone – over the mission being manned or not.

“ _Dr. Enomoto is strongly against it. She says, send a probe first, and then advance to a manned mission, which would be the standard_ ,” is how Chanyeol’s report goes, in a hushed voice. “ _But Mr. Ishiyama isn’t having it. He says it’d be a waste of time. He’s pretty serious in wanting to see all about this planet while he’s alive_.”

“I sort of understand him,” Junmyeon confesses. “According to your calculus, how long would it take for the probe to arrive at the supposed planet?”

“ _Ten years, if we were lucky,_ ” Chanyeol says a bit bitterly. “ _And it isn’t a_ supposed _planet. It exists. His existence is almost confirmed for good, you know_.”

“Almost-definitely confirmed,” Junmyeon jokes.

“ _I’m hanging up_ ,” Chanyeol threatens. He doesn’t.

In the lunches that the three of them – Junmyeon, Chanyeol, and now Enomoto – eat together, Enomoto expressed her distaste over Mr. Ishiyama obviously winning the argument.

“This is nuts,” she says, furiously munching her meat. “This man wants to kill everyone in the ship.”

“There are some precedents…” Chanyeol is very, very careful when arguing with her. The last thing he’d want to do is to make her angry at him. “Manned expeditions have gone as far as the Neptunian system, so that’s a place to start, security wise.”

“The Neptunian system!” She yells, furious, and Chanyeol winces. “Alpha Centauri isn’t the Neptunian system! You know that!”

“I do. I’m sorry,” says Chanyeol, as quickly as he can. “It’s just… with so much certainty about there being life in the planet…”

Silence comes, during which Enomoto, while devouring half of her meal at once, visibly calms down. “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she apologizes in a quiet voice.

“No, it’s okay! You’re right, you know. Security wise, it is a risk.”

“By the way, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon calls, half to remind them that he’s still there, half because he actually has an important question to ask. “Since you discovered something so important about the planet, don’t you get to rename it? Currently, it has a temporary name, right?”

Chanyeol, who has just stuffed his mouth with pirão de leite, nods wordlessly. “When fe fisfofery—” after thinking twice, he does everyone a favor and swallows before restarting the sentence. “When the discovery gets officially announced, seems like I’ll do the honors.”

Junmyeon raises his brows in mild surprise. “It hasn’t been announced yet?”

“No. Mr. Ishiyama got everyone in the lab working into a definite confirmation. He wants to announce it by Friday.”

A hum of comprehension comes from Junmyeon, while Enomoto asks, “do you already know what to name it?”

“More or less. I’m making a list.” He inflates with pride, obviously more than glad to name the planet. It must be one of the maximum honors for an astronome – to get to name a celestial body. “I want to name it after a Tupi word, since we’re in Brazil and all. So I’m asking around for cool Tupi words, but few people speak it nowadays…”

“Tupi?” Enomoto frowns.

“The language of the natives,” Junmyeon explains. “It’s currently extinct. I should go to Manaus during the weekend, visit the library for a Tupi dictionary.”

“Mmf!” Chanyeol expresses his contentment by clapping, mouth once again full. He swallows. “I’m tagging along. The walk there is hell, and the buses are an even deeper hell, but the city is awesome. You should come with us, doctor!”

“I’d like to go,” Enomoto declares politely, gazing at Junmyeon unsurely. “May I?”

“Of course! It’d be great.” Junmyeon gives her the confirmation she needs. “Well all go. It’ll be fun.”

Everything goes as scheduled. The announcement sweeps over the world on Friday, and the media swarms towards the CNPE, going as far as interviewing Chanyeol – “ _I’m gonna be on TV!!_ ” says him by way of hello, in the phone with Junmyeon, a minute after the interview was over “ _A billion TVs, actually!_ ” – and making the lab an inhabitable place. Junmyeon finds it funny, how Chanyeol and Enomoto come to his shelter at night, because it’s late at night and they _still_ haven’t gone away and come on, they need to sleep. To their luck, the shelter has recently been expanded, and still isn’t to its full capacity, so they manage to sleep there for the night.

Then, on Saturday, they go to Manaus. Enomoto is charmed about absolutely everything she sees, but specially with the theater.

“This is _beautiful_ ,” she marvels, eyes gleaming like a child’s. She sighs. “I really wish I had brought a camera.”

“I’ll take a picture of you,” Junmyeon offers, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket. Enomoto seems surprised by it, very much so, to the point that Junmyeon laughs and asks, “what?”

“No, it’s just… you’re a priest, and you have a cellphone.” She shakes her head. “But well, who doesn’t need a cellphone nowadays…”

So she poses in front of the theater, the perfect portrait of an excited Japanese tourist, and, after a couple of shots, Junmyeon turns to Chanyeol and prompts, “go stand next to her.”

“Huh?” Chanyeol seems to have been woken up from a daze.

“I’ll take a picture of both of you,” Junmyeon explains. “Go stand next to her. I don’t have any tourist-ish pictures of you.”

“That’s because I’m not a tourist!” He objects, but, blushing, complies, and Junmyeon takes a picture of them.

They make an endearing couple, in Junmyeon’s opinion.

Finding a Tupi dictionary in the library is not as easy of a task as Junmyeon would’ve wished, but easier than he would’ve thought. They dive into it together, firing suggestions, jokes, and general commentary back and forth.

Eventually, Chanyeol finds the name he wants: Jurupari.

“Okay, so the meaning isn’t the best,” he justifies, pointing at the definition of said word in the dictionary: ‘demon, devil, nightmares’. “But I like the word. It has a ring to it.”

“The definition is like this because it’s an outdated book, most probably,” Junmyeon corrects, and he’s right. The book dates to over 150 years past. “Jurupari was actually a beloved deity, akin to Jesus Christ to indigenous folk.”

“Oh,” both Chanyeol and Enomoto say, entertained by the story.

“But then… well,” Junmyeon gives them a small, restrained smile. “The Jesuits came to Brazil…”

“ _Oh_ ,” they say now, making faces.

“Awkward,” Chanyeol adds, and Junmyeon is forced to agree.

“We do what we can to learn from our mistakes.” It’s all he says on the matter.

The name is announced as soon as they go back to the lab – this kind of information can’t wait till weekdays. Jurupari. The name runs across the world, made famous in mere minutes.

Jurupari, the inhabited planet. There’s so much expectation being built around the announcements that, when Junmyeon remembers he’ll be in the first mission to visit the planet, he becomes choked up from emotion.

Speaking of which…

“We made a deal with your guys.” Somehow, Mr. Ishiyama has taken a liking to Junmyeon, even though he’s the furthest away from being a scientist that anyone could be. “We pick the car, they pick the crew. I’m supposing they’ve already chosen you.”

“They have, sir,” Junmyeon replies politely.

“Good, good.” They’re standing in the middle of a hallway, which, despite the lack of reporters today, is full of movement. “We’re making a crazy deal with a guy over in Dubai, you won’t believe it. We’re buying an asteroid.”

“An asteroid?” Junmyeon can’t contain his surprise.

“An asteroid. According to Dr. Noah, it’s the safest bet for the ship to travel as fast as it can.” Mr. Ishiyama shrugs. “I believe him. The man is too smart for his own good, so I think, if he isn’t right about this, then who is?”

Junmyeon gets where that comes from, and silently agrees.

When March 16 comes – Junmyeon can’t believe it’s been a month already – the crew is formed, and ready to be announced. Junmyeon hasn’t caught a single whiff of it. He thinks to himself, almost sardonically, that the Superior General might’ve thought of preparing a surprise to him.

“Good evening to my hard-working folks!” Says Mr. Ishiyama as he bursts into the tower on the night of April 16, just before it turns midnight. Chanyeol almost falls dead from the startle. “How are you doing? Excited over the mission, right?”

“Yes!” exclaims Chanyeol, perhaps a little weakly. He’s been making calculi and graphics about the functioning of the asteroid ship for almost fourteen hours now. Enomoto says nothing, merely blinks the sleep away behind her glasses.

“Good, because the honorable Society of Jesus just sent me a list with their first escalation for the crew!” Upon saying that, Mr. Ishiyama flamboyantly pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. Junmyeon briefly wonders why didn’t he just bring the list in his phone or tablet, only to remember, a second later, about CNPE’s no-electronic-devices policy. “Pause what you’re doing and listen, you’ll like this.”

Chanyeol and Enomoto do as told. Junmyeon, who had only been entertaining them, does nothing but listen.

“The first name is, of course, Father Junmyeon Kim from the Society of Jesus,” Mr. Ishiyama announces, and Junmyeon chuckles shyly as Chanyeol and Enomot react explosively to the news.

“ _What_?”

“You’re going to space! What the f—fire!” Chanyeol just barely omits the cussword, glancing apprehensively at his boss to check if he noticed. If he did, he shows no signs.

“Second name – Father Samuel Choi, also from the Society of Jesus!” Comes the announcement, and Junmyeon jumps up in surprise.

“Father Choi!”

“You know him?” Chanyeol asks.

“He was a professor of mine in the seminary,” he explains, still very surprised. “I haven’t seen him in ages! What a coincidence!”

“Well, at least you’ll have a friend with you up there,” says Mr. Ishiyama, grinning at him. He then clears his throat and carries on. “Third – Henry Lau, also from the Society!”

“No _way_.” Junmyeon doesn’t trust his own ears anymore.

“Don’t tell me you know him too!”

Junmyeon doesn’t answer, waiting for the rest.

“Fourth name… okay, we’re over with the priests. Fourth name, Yuliya Dmitrievna Kan, medic!”

A pause, during which everyone awaits Junmyeon’s reaction, but he doesn’t react at all. He just nods, and waits, expression unreadable. Mr. Ishiyama carries on once again.

“Fifth name, Zhang Yixing, musician.” Another pause. No reaction. “Sixth name, Amber Josephine Liu, anthropologist.”

“ _No way_ ,” Junmyeon whispers to himself.

“You’re freaking me out,” warns Chanyeol.

“And then, finally,” Mr. Ishiyama glances around the room, smile suddenly three times wider, and oh Lord. Oh Lord, Junmyeon knows what comes next. “Seventh and Eighth names, as well as the last members of the crew: Noah Park Chanyeol, astronomer,” Chanyeol jumps in his seat immediately, “and Enomoto Mitsuki-slash-Sunyoung Park, AI engineer!” Enomoto jumps much higher than Chanyeol, and for a reason.

“How do they know my name?” She asks in a shrill voice.

“Wait,” Chanyeol widens his eyes to their limits. “You’re Korean?”

“Children,” Mr. Ishiyama warns, turning to Junmyeon. “So? Got any more friends in the crew?”

Junmyeon looks up slowly, looking very, very lost.

“I,” he starts off. “I know every single person in this crew.”

The other three frown at him in unison.

“Seriously?” Mr. Ishiyama asks, genuinely intrigued.

“I was Father Choi’s student,” he starts counting the crew members down. “I’ve met Henry Lau and Amber Liu in Mexico, Yuliya Kan in Namibia. The only one I don’t know personally is Zhang Yixing, but Amber is a huge fan.” He pauses. “She’ll freak out when she hears about this.”

“Maybe they picked only people you know on purpose,” Enomoto – or Park Sunyoung, as they’ve recently found out – theorizes.

“Maybe the Jesuits, but all the others are prominent names in their respective areas,” to everyone’s surprise, it’s Chanyeol who speaks out. “Yuliya Kan is famous for her volunteer efforts in impoverished areas of the world. Amber Liu isn’t that big – no offense, by the way – but she’s been up-and-rising. And Zhang Yixing has been called a once-in-a-hundred-years music genius by the Chinese media.” He winks at Enomoto. “Not as rare as our once-in-a-thousand-years engineer, though.”

“Oh, stop it,” she shoves him off, but the blush on her cheeks is quite visible. “Following that logic, you would be the most brilliant astronomer of your time, then?”

“Wasn’t me who said it,” Chanyeol puts up a front, adjusting his glasses obnoxiously on purpose.

“Well, that’s all I had to say to you. Amazing coincidence, I must say,” Mr. Ishiyama says, directing his word at Junmyeon for that last part. “I don’t believe in destiny, Father Junmyeon, but things like this test my belief. Some coincidences are too big to be what they are.”

“I see what you mean,” Junmyeon agrees.

“You don't believe in destiny? Come on, boss,” Chanyeol half-protests. “Out of all people in the world, all the brilliant people there are out there… if this isn’t fate, what is it?”

That sentence causes impact on Junmyeon. Fate. What are the odds of a coincidence so big? Isn’t this what they call fate? Destiny? God’s plan?”

“I’ll let you decide that. Oh, I almost forgot,” Mr. Ishiyama was just about to turn around and leave, but he stops himself. “The departure date has been set to December this year. Training for survival in space should start soon. Also, someone will have to pilot the ship.”

The four of them exchange looks. Silence.

“Uh… discuss it with the rest of the crew when they arrive,” Mr. Ishiyama orders, a bit embarrassed. “That’s all. Bye.”

And he leaves at last.

Chanyeol turns to Junmyeon, grinning. “They’re coming to Brazil! The crew!”

“Henry will be thrilled,” Junmyeon declares, trying to conceal his happiness. “He loves tropical places. He’ll want to swim in the Amazon river and wrestle anacondas.”

“He sounds… wild.” Chanyeol makes a face. Then, remembering something, he turns to Enomoto. “You never told me you’re Korean!”

“Korean-Japanese. Zainichi,” she corrects him, thoroughly embarrassed. “But… yeah. I am. Enomoto Mitsuki is just the name I use in Japan to avoid jeopardy.”

Junmyeon gets to his feet, taking a seat closer to her. He’s worried. The last time they touched this topic… well, it ended badly. “Are you comfortable talking about this?”

“I… yeah,” she nods. Both Junmyeon and Chanyeol look at her with concern. “I mean, I’m still a bit uncomfortable, but… since that day in Boston, I’ve been trying to stop doing this. Stop trying to erase my origins.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m not in Japan anymore, and, even if I were, the Saitama massacre is over. I don’t need to hide anymore.”

Junmyeon nods, and Chanyeol bites his lip. It seems like he wants to say something, but can’t find the right words.

“So,” Junmyeon says it in his behalf. “Is it okay for us to call you by your Korean name?”

At that, Chanyeol releases his lip. Ah. So it was that.

“It’s okay,” she replies, making a little ‘okay’ sign with his hand. “Call me Sunyoung.”

“Park Sunyoung, right?” Junmyeon casts a glance full of meaning at Chanyeol. “You two have the same surname.”

Chanyeol blushes, a slight streak of pink across his cheeks. Enomoto – no, Sunyoung – merely laughs. “The coincidences won’t stop, huh?”

“Looks like they won’t.” Junmyeon smiles his kindest, most soothing smile, and pats her on the shoulder friendly. “Nice to meet you, Sunyoung.”

She understands. She understands, and smiles back at him, bright, refreshing. “Nice to meet you too.”


	11. Outskirts of Manaus, February 14, 2082. - Team.

The first one to arrive is not Henry Lau, as Junmyeon would’ve expected, but Father Samuel Siwon Choi, age 36, prodigal professor of the Pontifical Gregorian University and the human incarnation of a British gentleman.

“Father Choi!” Junmyeon greeted him with great joy when he arrived at the shelter, in his heavy priest habit.

“Hello there, my boy. Good to see you,” he said, smiling wide as he hugged Junmyeon, and it was a funny sight, since Junmyeon is much shorter than him. When they parted, Father Choi huffed. “Quite hot here, isn’t it?”

Junmyeon chuckled. “It _is_ quite hot here.”

“Is it like this all year round?”

“Oh, no, of course not. Right now, it’s winter; when I arrived here, in December, it was much worse.”

“Good Lord,” the British man cursed, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a napkin.

Introducing Father Choi to Chanyeol was one of the funniest experiences in Junmyeon’s life. Chanyeol was scared to death, shrinking in cowardice.

“Nice to meet you, uh—Father,” Chanyeol fumbled for words and bowed, apparently unsure whether to address him as a Korean man or as a fellow member of the Commonwealth community.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Park. Or, what should I call you?” Father Choi glanced back and forth between Junmyeon and Chanyeol. “I must insist for you two to call me ‘Siwon’ from now on. Or ‘Samuel’, that works too, even though Junmyeon would oppose. I heard he's in a mission to unify all people of Korean ascendency in the globe.”

He winks at Junmyeon, who blushes intensely, having been called out on that for the first time. “I apologize—”

“Shush. Just cease calling me ‘Father Choi’ all the time,” the older priest cut him off. “We’re equals now, both part of the same crew. See me as a friend from now on, if you please.”

Junmyeon just blushes harder and harder by the minute, and it worsens when he sees Chanyeol watching him, grinning from ear to ear. Junmyeon is a very pale person – his face must be blotched red all over, truly a sight. “As you wish,” he bows respectfully. “S-Siwon.”

“Ah, good. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?” Siwon grins, a row of perfect white teeth gleaming in the washed out scenario of the shelter. “And you,” he turns to Chanyeol with a firm voice, startling the grin out of him. “You must call me ‘Sammy’.”

“W-what?”

All in all, Siwon has great fun on behalf of them, and stays at the shelter, in the same room as Junmyeon.

The second one to arrive is Amber – understandable, as she was actually the one who was, geographically speaking, the closest to Brazil. Junmyeon checks into a hotel in Manaus just to be able to pick her up at the airport; she arrives at two, almost three AM, looking tired to death.

Still, her face lightens up when she sees him there, and he can’t resist. He runs into her arms, hugging her tight.

“You! What are you doing here!” She protests, laughing as he spins her around. “Aren’t you staying, like, in the middle of nowhere? And you still came to fetch me?”

“Why, of course,” he replies with mock politeness. “Can’t have a lady roam around town alone at this hour, can I?”

“You’re the most adorable chauvinistic pig ever,” she coos as she pinches his cheeks. “Can’t wait to meet the rest of the crew. Who’s in it? Is there someone I know? Is there someone famous?” She pauses. “Besides Noah Park, of course.”

He thinks of telling her. And he almost does, but he manages to stop himself, a mysterious grin spreading on his lips. “Wait and see.”

She protests, and whines, and even shakes him by the shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. He must resist. The reward for his restraint will be sweet, so sweet.

After Amber, no one comes for a while, and Junmyeon is starting to feel worry over Henry’s absence. Henry is usually excited to travel, and takes the first flight to anywhere he finds worth going. Junmyeon really thought he’d be the first to arrive…

He then gets a heads up from Chanyeol. “Apparently, Henry Lau and Yuliya Kan are arriving in the same flight,” he tells Junmyeon during one of their now collective lunches, with Sunyoung, Amber, and Siwon listening attentively. “Mr. Ishiyama emailed me their arrival time, and it’s like, almost exactly the same.”

“Almost exactly,” Junmyeon mocks.

“Fuck you! I’m a scientist!” Chanyeol retorts, and everyone laughs. “Nothing is exact! The concept of ‘certainty’ is a lie!”

And sure enough, they arrive at Manaus in the same flight, and then at the village in the same bus. Henry is absolutely baffled by the coincidence, while Junmyeon can’t help but remember how he and Chanyeol first met.

“Seulgi,” Junmyeon greets the medic Yuliya Dmitrievna Kan, who he befriended in a mission to Namibia in 2074. She was only 20 years old at the time, but was already beyond brilliant, with the passion and drive of an innate leader. “I can’t express how glad I am to meet you again.”

“Likewise, Father.” She bows respectfully. “And nice to meet you, all of you. I am Yuliya, 28 years old. I’m from Kazakhstan.”

“Enchanted to meet you.” Siwon is the first to greet her back, pulling her hand to kiss it; she blushes a whole lot at that. “So, Father Kim Junmyeon here has gotten you a Korean name as well? He likes fishing for Koreans, that one.”

Junmyeon turns red, head to toe. Yuliya just laughs.

“I don’t mind,” she says. “I’m of North Korean ascendency. My mother gave me the name-slash-nickname of Seulgi, so I’d keep the culture alive at home.” She then turns to all of them. “If you’d like, you could call me ‘Seulgi’ too. It’s how my close friends call me, so it’d bring me closer to you.”

She then smiles brightly, and no one can resist to the sheer glow of it. And that is how Yuliya Kan becomes Seulgi, the crew’s medic and resident mascot.

As for Henry…

“… and I was like, sweet, I’m going to the coolest rainforest in the world! But don’t worry, I’ve read about all the stuff that there’s in the Amazon river – there are, like, sharks and shit – and I won’t try to swim in it, I swear. Even though I _need_ to see an alligator in real life.” He just won’t stop talking. Typical Henry, but, this time, Junmyeon is worried, because there are ten other people in their room at the shelter who might be having some troubles falling asleep thanks to his endless chatter. “Did you know there’s a really tiny fish, endemic to the Amazon river if I remember well, that, like, if you swim in the river, it can get into your—”

“For goodness’ sake, Henry Lau,” Siwon groans from his bed. “Can you ever shut up? Perhaps in this lifetime, if you feel like it?”

Henry winces. Despite being only three years younger than Siwon, Henry was, too, a student of Siwon's, and still feared and respected him like anyone else. “Sorry, Father.” Then, to Junmyeon: “I guess I should go to sleep.”

Junmyeon, who’s almost passing out and who has to wake up in four hours to teach a class of small children how to tell geometric shapes apart, only nods, smiling. “Goodnight, Henry.”

Despite that incident, he’s overwhelmingly glad to see his friend again.

Then, at last, after almost a month, their last crew member shows up.

“Good news from Mr. Ishiyama!” Announces Chanyeol upon arriving at the restaurant, almost half an hour later than the rest of the scientists – Seulgi, Amber, and Sunyoung. Even though those three were staying at the CNPE, they had come to lunch without Chanyeol, claiming he was in a meeting. “Seems like our last crew member is due to arrive today!” He glances at his wristwatch. “In some hours, actually!”

“ _Oh_ ,” Henry smirks, and glances at Amber. “Seems like someone will have the time of their life in a while!”

Amber frowns. “Who, me?”

“She doesn’t know,” Junmyeon explains.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Henry expresses some surprise. Amber glances around, as if to see if everyone is in some kind of joke she’s not.

“Know what…?” Even her chewing motions become unsure.

“Is Amber a fan?” Seulgi asks Junmyeon, eyes gleaming. “I quite like him too.”

“Oh, she’s head over heels with him,” Junmyeon affirms, glancing at Amber so she’ll understand. “But well, she can’t help it, can she? He _is_ being called a musical genius, after all.”

There’s silence over their table. Some of them, namely Chanyeol and Sunyoung, are into the joke, having heard from Junmyeon how much Amber loves Zhang Yixing; some, like Siwon and Amber herself, are completely confused.

Then, it dawns upon her.

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Henry is about to burst out in laughter.

“No, no way. You would’ve told me. Wouldn’t you have told me, Kim Junmyeon?” She slowly, very slowly, raises her knife to attack position.

“I am so sorry,” is all Junmyeon can say, already chuckling in quiet hiccups. “I—I just wanted to see your face when you found out.”

“I’m going to MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!” She screams, and all of them release the laughter they had been holding in. Only Siwon still doesn’t get it. “You, and Henry Lau, you fucking idiots! I didn’t even brush my hair today!”

“Well, you’ve got some time,” Chanyeol declares amidst laughter, and Amber throws toothpicks at him.

Junmyeon, who have noticed Siwon’s confusion, kindly tells him about Zhang Yixing, the young Chinese musician who’s got Amber’s heart on his palm, and the professor can, at last, join the laughter, even if a bit belatedly. For the rest of the lunch, they keep throwing jokes about Amber and Yixing back and forth, leading Amber to curse at all of them, without exception.

According to Chanyeol and Seulgi, who went to fetch Yixing at the bus station, he arrived quite late, but apologizing profusely to both of them. “ _Apparently, he got lost and missed the bus_ ,” told Chanyeol to Junmyeon over the phone. “ _And then when we were going to the CNPE he freaked out when he saw the boat_.”

“Oh no. Is he scared of water or something?”

“ _No, I mean freak out as in a good freak out. Apparently he loves fishes and shit_.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon is relieved. “And Amber? How did she react? I wish I had been there.”

“ _She played it cool. It was funny_ ,” Chanyeol snorts. “ _She was shaking from head to toe when she greeted him. But I guess she hid it well. Honestly, just from taking a look at her, I’d never have guessed_.”

“Yeah, the things you find out about people.” Junmyeon chuckles. “Then? How was him?”

“ _He was alright. Really spacy, almost ran into the stairs in his way up the tower. When we took him to the labs, he kept looking at the equipment with this helluva vague face, and when I asked him what’s up, he told me he found it weird that all the equipment hummed in Tis_.”

Ah. Absolute pitch. Apparently, Zhang Yixing is a compilation of all the music-related talents one can have. “I wonder if he doesn’t feel lost among you, scientists,” Junmyeon says, observing the movement at the shelter absentmindedly. “He’s a man of the arts. He should be with us, men of God, so we can discuss the meaning of life.” A pause. “Also, he could talk about fish with Henry. He’s insisting he _must_ see an alligator with his own eyes before we depart.”

“ _Yeah_.” Silence falls over them for a moment, and Junmyeon wonders if Chanyeol feels it too – the chill at the mention of a departure. It’s only in some months, but… “ _By the way, did you hear? We found our pilot_.”

“You did?” Junmyeon frowns. “Who? A Jesuit or a scientist?”

“ _You’re making us seem like rival teams_ ,” Chanyeol points out. “ _A Jesuit. Apparently, Father—uh, Siwon is a mechanical engineer_.”

“Oh, true.” Junmyeon wonders how he hadn’t made that association yet. Granted, a mechanical engineer isn’t a rocket pilot, much less an asteroid one, but it’s something. A person who knows the basics of a machine can go a long way, with the right lessons. “And hey, point for the Jesuits.”

“ _Remind me who’s making the space travel thing possible at all?_ ”

“Be a good sport, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol tsks. “ _Alright. Well, trains start in two weeks. Physical trains and et cetera. You… will, you know, quit teaching at the school…?_ ”

Junmyeon lets out a saddened sigh. “I’m trying not to. I think I’ll just quit teaching the afternoon classes, pass it onto someone else. The trains certainly won’t be in the morning, will they?”

“ _I don’t know yet_ ,” Chanyeol sounds sympathetic. “ _But, if they turn out to be, I’ll do what I can, okay? Maybe we can all rearrange it so research goes by the morning instead. I know how much this job at the school matters to you._ ”

Something in Junmyeon’s chest swells, making it painful for him to breathe. His throat tightens. “I… thank you, Chanyeol,” is all he can say, doing his best to sound normal. “I appreciate it. I truly do.”

“ _Yeah, I know. Gotta hang up now. Lots of work to do, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting cursed to the tenth generation for monopolizing the landline._ ” He laughs. “ _Goodnight, Father Kim. Sleep well. The fun times are just beginning._ ”

“Goodnight, Chanyeol.”

The fun times. Junmyeon smiles to himself. Let them begin, then.

 

The year flies past them. When the date is pushed back, as they all predicted it'd be, the next year flies even faster.

They train, they laugh, they make jokes and have lunch together. Sometimes, they fight, they disagree, but, soon enough, they apologize. They grow closer, and grow together. Even their differences, which seem so big at times, can’t dissolve the unity that they’ve formed over those few, few months.

And Junmyeon has a theory. He believes that this is because they’re united by something the overcomes than differences, whether cultural, ideologic, or personal. It’s something bigger, something stronger than that sort of mundane thing.

Fate. Destiny.

 

 

Two nights before their departure - the definite date this time, a year and a half later than initially predicted - they throw a party at the tower.

Chanyeol sneaks the drinks in. The Jesuits bring food. Yixing brings his guitar, and Amber mysteriously gets his hands on some party decoration. The celebration starts at midnight, and it turns out to be very lively, despite its limitations. In the beginning, Yixing plays some pop music classics, until…

“But you’re a musician yourself, right?” Chanyeol asks, chin propped on the backrest of a chair as he cranes over Yixing to hear him play. “Why don’t you play some of your own songs for us to hear?”

The suggestion is met with much enthusiasm by the rest of the crew, specially by Amber, who, somewhere along the way, had admitted being a big fan to Yixing, and now assumed the role of his personal cheerleader.

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear them,” Yixing admits, very embarrassed, and everyone reacts negatively to that statement, emphasizing that they want to hear his songs. So he starts his impromptu concert with a mid-tempo ballad, ears bright red.

At a certain point of the party, when they’re all eating fried macaxeira and drinking improvised caipirinhas, the door swings open without warning. All of the party halts still. The one who opened the door is a man, tanned skin, black hair slicked back.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “Excuse me,” he adds in accented English.

“Guys, this is Torres from Materials,” Chanyeol, who has drunk the most so far, points at him with the half empty cachaça bottle in his hand. “Do you want a snack, Torres?”

“Yes… thank you,” Torres is clearly a bit confused. “Um, Dr. Enomoto? There’s a phone call for you.”

Sunyoung reacts with some lag, no longer used to people calling her Japanese name. She looks around with some confusion, as if asking her crewmates what it could be about, before following Torres downstairs, to where the phone is.

In a collective act of shrugging, the party restarts almost immediately. Only Junmyeon waits for Sunyoung’s return with concern, glancing at the door every now and then, food almost untouched on his plate.

By the time Sunyoung comes back, the party has gone up a level. Yixing was taken away of his own guitar by Henry, who claimed he wasn’t enjoying the party as he should, and Chanyeol had picked the guitar up and started to play. Of course, he wasn’t as good as Yixing, but, what he lacked in talent, he made up for in enthusiasm. Henry, Amber, and Seulgi were tiptoeing over the threshold between tipsy and drunk, a threshold Chanyeol has leaped over a long time ago. Siwon had given in and drunk a bit too. Henry wouldn’t stop giving Yixing alcohol – and food, but mainly alcohol – and Junmyeon was starting to predict bad ends to that.

It all sounds fun, but it all stops when Sunyoung arrives, supported by Torres by the arm.

She’s crying, crying so hard that she can barely stand.

Everyone immediately puts aside whatever they were doing to rush towards her. Chanyeol is, predictably, the one who arrives first, taking Torres’ place in supporting her; he’s followed first by Amber and Henry, then by Siwon, Seulgi, and Yixing. Junmyeon comes last, not rushing.

And, once she regains the strength in her legs, it’s Junmyeon's arms that she runs into.

He hugs her tightly, already knowing what it’s about. When he made his decision, he imagined a reaction like this, but it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, to see her like that.

Everyone stares at them in dense, dense confusion. Henry, however, is kind enough to unfreeze so to fetch Sunyoung some water, and it’s after drinking the water and sitting down for a while that she starts to talk.

Despite being with them for all this time, she had never told them about her… situation. She was ashamed of it, hiding it as well as she could. Now, however, she starts blurting it all out for them to hear, and the crew, sitting around her in a circle like children do in school, listen to every word.

She tells them everything. From how she fell victim to the anti-Korean sentiment that led the post-Saitama fires massacre, kidnaped, raped, tortured and almost killed by five men; how she was saved by a mysterious group of men in suits, only to find out that they weren’t the police, but criminals of a higher degree; and how she closed the deal that, simultaneously, saved her life and condemned it.

And then, comes the new part.

“I had been wondering,” she confesses as a new surge of tears rolls down her cheeks. “What my benefactor was thinking about the space trip. Why he wasn’t trying to stop me.” A quiet sob erupts from her chest. “Turns out he was negotiating.”

“Negotiating?” Amber is notably outraged at the entire story. “Negotiating what? You?”

Sunyoung glances at Junmyeon, pleading for help. He says nothing. She turns back to the others.

“Yes. Me. Turns out he received an offer; a couple of billions, something he couldn’t refuse.” At the mention of a couple of billions, many eyes widen, and Chanyeol lets out a low whistle. “During all this time, he was trying to milk more money out of the deal. Then, he received an ultimatum, and sold me off.”

“He didn’t sell you off,” Junmyeon speaks up before he can stop himself.

Silence. All eyes are on him now.

“No,” Sunyoung confirms in a mutter. “He didn’t.” And she breaks down once again, crying in quiet sobs.

Junmyeon is under the limelight. Amber crosses her arms. “And how would you know that?”

From the corner of his eye, Junmyeon can almost see the gears turning in Chanyeol’s brain. Good. He should figure it out soon.

“My family started making a life-saving for me when I was in middle school,” he starts off, and Chanyeol widens his eyes. There it is. “When I joined the Society, I made a vote of poverty, as all Jesuits do, and therefore asked them to spend it or donate it. They refused to.”

“Oh,” Seulgi figures it out too. By her side, Yixing is nodding, staring off into space, but it’s hard to know if he understood or not.

“I’m glad they didn’t,” Junmyeon smiles calmly. “It became of use, eventually.”

Henry gasps. A fraction of second later, Amber gasps too.

“You paid off her debt!!” Henry yells, half-accusing, half-appraising.

“My parents did,” Junmyeon is quick to correct.

“You rascal!” Chanyeol laughs out of pure happiness. “Look at what you’ve done! You made her cry!”

“It was for a good cause,” Junmyeon turns to grin at Sunyoung, who punches him on the shoulder, but grins back, face stained with tears.

“You’re free now,” Yixing gets to his feet to pat her on the back. “Now, we are all free spirits, and we’ll explore this freedom in the universe.”

“Except that we’ll be confined for good part of the trip,” Amber points out, and Yixing tsks.

“A vehicle made by men,” he assumes a grand posture – jokingly or serious, they can never tell. “Cannot hold down the freedom of a soul.”

And they resume the party, now happier – and freer – than ever.


	12. Adeus.

It feels like an out of body experience. Like he isn’t himself, waking up that day, preparing to leave Earth behind.

His body wakes up, brushes his teeth, eat breakfast with the rest of the crew, who are as quiet as him, save for the occasional nervous joke, and the nervous laughter that follows. His body also goes through a check-up, and many different people tell him many different things, which his physical brain seem to absorb, but he, himself, can barely hear over the noise in his ears. His body receives a pep talk from Chanyeol, who looks remarkably lucid, guaranteeing everyone that his calculus might be ‘almost-exact’, but they’re the more certain modern science can make them.

His body puts the suit. More talking, more instructions. A congratulation from Mr. Ishiyama, who's no longer CNPE’s director, but is there as a co-author of the project, and an interview to many TV channels who film him all at once, in which his body talks some nonsense about how the trip will spiritually strengthen the human race. His body takes part in a circle prayer conducted by Siwon, and prays.

His body gets into the ship. The noise in his ears is deafening.

They all talk to each other, about the seats, about the interior of the ship, about how big it is, and how the asteroid, which they’ll accolade the ship to once they find it, must be even bigger. He can’t hear the words, but his body talks too. He sees Siwon’s back from his seat, as the professor sits at the cockpit, and he sees Seulgi at his right side, white as a sheet of paper, and Henry at his left side, whose lips move in a silent prayer.

There’s one thing he can hear clearly, and it’s Siwon’s low voice booming from the cockpit, saying:

“If you want to throw up… just don’t.”

The laughter sounds distant, muffled, and the awful noise in his ears becomes so loud that it wakes him up.

Ah.

That dream again.


	13. Jeju, February 10, 2127. - Run away, hide away, cry away your sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo!! here for yet another update. things are starting to get exciting~ i'm almost finished with the raw material as well - it always takes me incomprehensibly long to tie up endings for fics this size - so yall can expect me to update more regularly.

“Father,” Jongdae calls Junmyeon softly, touching his shoulder, as Baekhyun waits outside the car with all the luggage. “Father, we’ve arrived. Wake up.”

While Jongdae work on waking Junmyeon up, Baekhyun glances around, marveled by the surroundings of the hideaway. The house – the _mansion_ , actually, would be the proper term – is atop of a small hill, right at the hem of the shore. It’s circled by flowerbeds of different colors, full of flowers Baekhyun can’t name, and it stands tall and wide with its cream-colored walls.

All in all, it’s a very soothing place, but something about it bothers Baekhyun. There’s something… strange about it, and he can’t put a finger on it.

At the car, he hears Jongdae sigh in relief, and knows Junmyeon has woken up. “Good morning, Father. We’re here.”

Junmyeon doesn’t make a sound. Baekhyun peeks into the car to see how he is, and catches him rubbing his eyes with his arm, looking remarkably disoriented.

“Where are we?” He asks, voice rough from sleep.

“Jeju. Here’s the hideaway the Superior General has arranged for you.”

He hums, and asks nothing further. Jongdae dutifully unfolds the wheelchair and helps Junmyeon off the car and onto it; his responsibility is the priest, while Baekhyun’s is the bags. And locking the car, which he does as soon as the last door slams closed.

When they start approaching the garden, Baekhyun finally notices what’s been bothering him so much about the mansion. It has no gates, no fence - no boundaries but the cream-collored walls.

 

 

The one to receive them is no one but the Superior General himself. Baekhyun almost has a heart attack.

“There’s no need to be so formal,” is the first thing he says, because, as soon as they see him, Jongdae and Baekhyun do a ninety-degree bow. “I am quite indebted to you, making you do such dangerous things…”

“Not at all,” Jongdae promptly dismisses that possibility. “It wasn’t as troublesome as one would’ve thought, and we were pleased to be of use.”

Seeing the Superior General in person, and from this up close, makes Baekhyun a little starstruck. There’s nothing particularly grand about him – he’s a short, wiry man in his fifties, of humble posture, dressed in common civilian clothes – but, at least to Baekhyun, he’s surrounded by an aura of wisdom. Must be his keen, sharp eyes that give him such look.

He walks towards them with a small smile on his lips, and eyes trained on Junmyeon; when he reaches them, he stops for a moment, admiring the man, before he bows.

“It’s an immense pleasure to see you again.”

Jongdae and Baekhyun exchange a wide-eyed look.

Junmyeon raises his eyes to the Superior General’s face, analyzing it lethargically, and it seems like ages until he finally says something.

“You were my student,” he says, nodding vaguely. “At the Loyola School for Boys, in Dublin.”

“I was.”

“You.” Junmyeon now nods with more certainty, as the memories come back to him. “Kim Minseok.”

The Superior General chuckles. “You even remember my name. Your memory is still astonishing, Professor.”

He then raises his eyes to Baekhyun and Jongdae, who had merely been watching till then. “Jongdae, there’s a room in this floor, just behind the stairs, that’s been prepared for Father Kim Junmyeon; take him there.”

“Yes, sir,” Jongdae bows. “Let’s go, Father,” he invites Junmyeon before he starts pushing the wheelchair, which Baekhyun finds of tact. He sees why Jongdae was chosen to take care of Junmyeon.

“And you, Byun Baekhyun,” the Superior General turns to Baekhyun, who straightens up immediately. “You come with me.”

And so does Baekhyun, following his small figure up the wide, tall stairway.

“By the way, Father…” Baekhyun remembers something. “I… forgive my intermission, but I think I've gotten your name wrong for all this time.…”

“Oh, you certainly haven't,” he affirms with a cryptical smile, and says nothing else, so Baekhyun, too, falls silent.

 

The meeting that follows has nothing good in store for Baekhyun.

First, because Do Kyungsoo is there, sitting at the table, shooting him glances of disdain over his glasses.

Second, because, to him, is designed a specific function – and it’s not a hard one per se, but…

“Leave the Society?”

The Superior General - Kim Minseok, if you're Junmyeon, or Jin Xiumin, if you're anyone else - nods somberly. “It was the first thing he told my emissary upon his first encounter with us.” He sighs. “He could barely speak, but he told us that much. And he seems serious about that.”

Baekhyun is, for a reason he himself doesn’t understand, shocked. However, at the same time… “But I guess I understand why,” he thinks out loud, earning sharp glances from both Xiumin and Kyungsoo. “He’s traumatized,” he rushes to explain. “I’ve heard of things like this. People—”

“This isn’t a game of charades. ‘I guess’ won’t cut it,” says Xiumin dryly, and Baekhyun shrinks as if he had shouted at him. “I need an assembly with him. If he’s to quit, I need to at least know the reason.”

Kyungsoo speaks up unexpectedly. “The only detail is that he refuses to talk,” he says. “The last time members of Society pressed him, he had a bout of rage.” Something akin to terror flashes behind his eyes. Despite himself, Baekhyun feels some sympathy for him. “He won’t accept the idea of an assembly.”

“So it is your role, Father Byun, to convince him. Make him talk.” Xiumin stares at him with dead seriousness in his eyes. “But thread carefully. You certainly know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Perfectly,” Baekhyun affirms. “I’ll make my best efforts.”

Xiumin nods, in understanding. He then allows himself a brief smile. “I chose you for a specific reason, Father Byun. From what I’ve heard, you’re someone people enjoy talking to, and easily open up to. I trust this talent of yours.” His smile widens. “And you should too.”

Baekhyun almost blushes. Almost. “I’m thoroughly honored, sir.” He bows, playing it cool.

Xiumin nods, and stands up, prompting both Kyungsoo and Baekhyun to immediately stand up as well. “That was all I wanted to tell you. I’ll let you rest now; you must be tired. Kyungsoo, would you show him his room?”

“With pleasure,” Kyungsoo himself bows deeply, then walks to Baekhyun’s side. “We’ll retreat then, sir.”

“Yes, do that,” Xiumin all but ushers them away. “I’ll see you for supper. Have some sleep, both of you.”

Kyungsoo bows one last time, as does Baekhyun, and they set off, Baekhyun tailing behind Kyungsoo’s steps.

As if on cue, as they walk toward the room, Baekhyun starts to feel the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders. At each step, he minds less the silence between him and Kyungsoo, tense and uncomfortable, and more how his members are starting to feel like they’re made of cement jelly.

He barely has a chance to inspect his room. He just enters it, says his thanks to Kyungsoo – or at least that’s what he hopes he said – and crashes onto the bed, passing out cold.

He misses supper, immersed in dreamless slumber.

 

 

It’s way past midnight when Baekhyun opens his eyes, drowsy from the extended rest. He blinks a couple of times, glancing around, knowing where he is but not recognizing the surroundings. So that’s his room… it’s a quite spacious room, with a desk, a bookshelf, a wardrobe, and the tall curtained bed where he currently lies.

There’s also a bedside table with a lamp, which he lights on, to get his eyes slowly accustomed to light. In the bedside table’s drawer, he finds, of course, a copy of the Holy Bible, but he also finds a small, black tablet computer, which he thinks could be used as a notepad.

“Unbelievable,” he shakes his head, glancing around. He can’t help but wonder whose house it is. It can’t be Father Jin’s, so who?

Well, that isn’t the matter right now. He has just found out why the house is so silent, catching a glance at the digital clock that rests on the desk, so he now has two choices; lie down and try to fall asleep again, or go out an explore the house with silent steps.

The first option is tempting, but the second sounds more exciting. So he goes for it.

So, after washing his face and changing into the comfortable clothes he brought in his suitcase, he goes out, cellphone in hands playing the role of a lantern. His socked feet slide slightly on the polished stone floor, but they help to muffle the sound of his steps, as well as to keep them warm, as it’s still winter, even in the subtropical Jeju.

The upper floor is made of four hallways, each with its neat row of beige doors closed. The space in the middle is hollow, allowing room for the two spiral stairways – the big one leading down, and another, smaller, up. From the rim of the hallway where he stands, hands resting on the golden railing, Baekhyun can see the vast entrance hall beneath his feet, it's white marble floor gleaming faintly under the sparse light; since there’s not much to see up there, unless he opens a door, which he won’t, he goes down.

Downstairs looks much bigger than up, even though Baekhyun knows the areas are the exact same size. After some observation, a whole minute of him glancing around quite foolishly, he concludes that it’s because the doors are taller, and all are open, that the hall looks so spacious. He walk closer to the door nearest to him, peeking inside.

Dining hall. He goes to the one next to it.

Possibly a game room. He sees a luminous dart board in the distance, as well as the corner of an air hockey table. Next one.

A reading room, and he freezes. He had taken the faint light coming from inside as moonlight or something similar, but, when he looks inside, the fireplace is on – and Father Kim Junmyeon is inside.

The soft gasp Baekhyun let out had been almost inaudible, but it was enough to attract Junmyeon's attention. He looks up with some interest, catching sight of the unspectacular state Baekhyun is; badly dressed, in his socks, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. However, if he thinks anything of his appearance, he doesn’t show it.

“Hello,” he says simply, and Baekhyun is growing convinced that his voice is constantly raspy. “Byun Baekhyun, if I remember well.”

Baekhyun straightens up. The shock is gone. “Yes, that’s me. You do have an impressive memory, Father.”

“So they say.” In his voice, no pride, or rejection. It’s blank, empty. “You’re up quite late.”

“I actually slept from the moment we got here till just now.” Slowly, attentive to any reactions Junmyeon might present, Baekhyun steps in, intending to stand by Junmyeon’s side. “And you?”

“Happened the same to me.” A pause. “Or, they might’ve woken me up to eat. I can’t remember.”

Baekhyun ‘ah’s softly in comprehension. He’s gotten close enough, right in front of the chair nearest to Junmyeon, and still no reaction from the other. Confused and wary, Baekhyun sits down. And that’s when he catches sight of something.

“Wow,” he says, looking at Junmyeon’s hands. He’s grown used to seeing the deformation right now – thankfully, Baekhyun is a highly adaptable individual – but there’s something new about them now. A set of wires and thin metal rods encase whatever’s left of his palm, and a discreet point of LED flashes in the chromed band around his wrist. “That’s…”

“A cast,” Junmyeon completes his sentence for him. A small smile appears on his lips when he glances down at it, but it looks insincere. “Minseok had Dr. Maxim Peters and a distinct medical scientist called Pyotr Verkov design it for me, so my hands will regain some of their movement.” To show Baekhyun what he means, Junmyeon raises one of his hands, and clenches it into a fist. It’s done very slowly, and the fist is quite loose, but… “I couldn’t do this before. Only halfway through.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Baekhyun concedes, admiring the cast. Very finely done… it must’ve costed a lot, too. Baekhyun is increasingly curious about all these displays of luxury, but he puts it aside. “It must’ve been hard, to… get around without much hand movement. It shows how dependent of our hands we are.”

Once Baekhyun says that, he watches. Any signs of rejection, and he’ll promptly change the direction of the conversation. Junmyeon, however, nods in agreement, admiring his own cast – or, perhaps, what it encases…

“Then?” He inquires suddenly. “Why were you searching for me?”

For a fraction of second, Baekhyun frowns in confusion. Then, he understands. “Oh, I wasn’t searching for you. I was exploring the house. Since I fell asleep before being shown around.”

“Ah.” There has yet to appear any emotion in Junmyeon’s voice, his actions, his movements. He looks, and sounds, empty at the moment. “My mistake. I apologize.”

“No need.”

They fall in silence for a while. Baekhyun uses the time to think of something to continue the conversation with, eyes on the blue-colored, expensive-looking fireplace. This is too good of a chance for him to let it slip away.

He discreetly glances to his side, at Junmyeon, and notices him fiddling with something. Upon a more careful look, he recognizes the object in his hands – a tablet computer, same model as the one he’s found in his room. There must be one in every room of the house.

“What are you doing?” Baekhyun asks softly.

Junmyeon raises his head, staring at Baekhyun with his vague, blank stare. “Oh,” he looks down again, at the gadget, and smiles. “I’m drawing. I used to be good at it… right now, I do it quite badly, but it’s entertaining.”

“Can I see?”

Junmyeon nods, and, with some difficulty, passes the gadget onto Baekhyun’s hand. Displayed on the screen, Baekhyun sees a beautiful drawing of a creature – a creature with horns, sharp teeth, pointy claws, and the detail that gives its identity away. A pair of eyes with concentric, heterochromatic irises.

Baekhyun feels a chill. “Is this one of them?” He asks very carefully.

“Yes,” Junmyeon answers, accepting the tablet back when Baekhyun passes it to him. The smile on his lips grow wider, and there’s, at last, some emotion to it – but a dark one, hard to identify. “One of my friends.” He chuckles.

“Your friends,” Baekhyun repeats, attempting to understand.

“A gítembe.” Junmyeon locks gazes with Baekhyun, who senses imminent danger. “A degenerate like me.”

Shit. Baekhyun is in an unexpected pinch.

“A degenerate?” He frowns, to express confusion and objection. “That certainly can’t be true.”

“Oh, but it is!” Junmyeon laughs as if Baekhyun had just told a joke. He shakes his head. “You’re right, though, in a way. I’m being unfair to Moa; he was never as filthy as me.”

Baekhyun’s eyes are still on the drawing. Now that he gives it a second look, the one depicted might be a beast, but it’s a delicate beast; lean, with long hair tied back, and long fingers…

He observes the detail on the hands. It’s hard to see – despite being a good drawing, it’s poorly done, its lines shaky for obvious reasons – but there’s something there.

“Did he have hands like yours?”

“Yes. All of us had. It’s a tradition among them.” Junmyeon moves, with some difficulty, the wheelchair closer to Baekhyun, leaning over the chair’s arm. “It’s an art form, did you know? Each artist does a different pattern, with a different technique.” He extends his hand to hover over Baekhyun’s lap, and Baekhyun might’ve gotten used to see them, but not this up close. “Mine were done by the finest, most famous artist in all Iwaci.” He leans even closer, his lips hovering over Baekhyun’s neck, and he asks in a low whisper:

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

In the back of his mind, Baekhyun remembers the Japanese legend of the Kuchisake-Onna; the association is so precise that he’d laughed, if he weren’t so tense and terrified.

“The craftsmanship is admirable,” he answers, like he has in the day before. Junmyeon is still hovering over him, his body heat seeping into Baekhyun’s clothes. “The fact it retained some of its nerves is a proof of how advanced the art is. Very well-done.”

Junmyeon laughs, his warm breath tickling Baekhyun’s neck. “Are you a man of the arts, Baekhyun?” A sigh. “You gave such impressive compliments to my drawing, and now to my hands…”

Baekhyun smiles feebly. “I’m an economist, but I have my hobbies.”

“Mm.” Baekhyun freezes in terror when one of Junmyeon’s fingers comes to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his fingernail. The cast’s wristband hums beside his ear. “You know, he was a man of the arts too,” Junmyeon whispers again, but, this time, his voice is suspiciously faint. “My master.”

His lips fall to Baekhyun’s neck, scorching hot. He has passed out without warning, a fever burning under his skin.


	14. Spaceship to Jurupari, Earthly years 2084-2090. - Mr. Traveling Man.

The year he spends in the spaceship is, paradoxically, one of the most tranquil, uneventful years in Junmyeon’s life.

Everyday, he wakes up after exact seven hours of sleep, and eats breakfast with everyone in the crew. The asteroid was previously loaded, by a probe, with a good quantity of food, and there was more in the ship, so they had no worries of starving.

“However, the stock _is_ limited in a way, seeing that we have no constant source,” says Chanyeol, who has, oddly enough, assumed a leadership position among them. “So… yeah. Gotta go easy with the snacks. Unfortunately.”

And it was indeed hard not to spend the entire day – time, there’s no day or night in the ship – eating, at least at first. It was a strangely cozy place. 

Then, after breakfast, they hardly had anything to do. They had to exercise, to keep their muscles from atrophying, and ‘shower’, actually just wash themselves with dust – “Like a bunch of chinchillas,” Henry had joked, evoking laughter from absolutely no one – and then they’d eat their next meal, and sleep after a certain time of vigil. They also had to report back to Earth periodically. Siwon and Chanyeol made regular, brief inspections around the cockpit, and Seulgi picked up the habit to do ‘health blitzes’.

“Checkup time!” She’d announce without warning.

“Again?” Henry exclaimed, right in the middle of a surely entertaining match of chess with Yixing. “Didn’t we do that… like… two hours ago?”

“Nope, that’d be twelve hours ago,” she’d smile brightly, material already in hands. “Line up, everyone!”

Who knew their mascot would turn out to be so tough?

Occasionally something to fix would come up, but most of the time was spent entertaining each other with games, talking, sometimes a downloaded book to read in their gadgets… to Junmyeon, it was so very different from the daily classes and walking through the jungle in Brazil, the climbing up and down hills under the Mexican sun, the civil war in Namibia… not to mention the South Pole…

The only problems were the fights. They were sporadic in the beginning, but, as the time went on, they started to become more frequent. Henry and Amber fought a lot between themselves, so those were minor stress, but the time Amber fought with Sunyoung was truly horrible. Another truly horrible fight took place between Sunyoung and Siwon, and that was perhaps the worst of all, because it divided the ship for a whole lot of time.

The fight had been on what is God’s role in human’s lives. While Siwon believed in Him as a ruler, Sunyoung believed in Him as a motivator for people to find their future themselves. The discussion was already pretty fired up, but then Sunyoung called God a ‘ficticious force’.

“When you say things like that, you aren’t offending just me – you’re offending everyone in this ship who believes in God!” Siwon boomed, signaling Junmyeon and Henry, who were doing their best to stay out of the conflict, in a furious hand gesture.

“Well, if believers can’t have a reasonable conversation with other people, then they shouldn’t have any conversations at all!” Sunyoung screamed back, storming out of the common area.

After that, all of them spent a quite long time – maybe the equivalent to a week – in awkwardly silent terms with each other, lest they fall in disgrace with either Sunyoung or Siwon. Eventually, both of them, who slowly became very embarrassed about their own behavior, apologized to each other, and all was fine.

Once, not a long while after Sunyoung and Siwon's fight, an unexpected quarrel broke between Henry and Seulgi, ugly enough to leave both red in the face. It had been about the blitzes, or at least it started because of them, from what Junmyeon could tell from afar. 

Some hours later, Seulgi showed up at Junmyeon’s bed while he was reading, crying profusely. Their beds were organized like bunk beds, but each bed had a shutter, which made it more of a horizontal booth. Small people like Junmyeon could easily sit up inside; Seulgi had a little bit of difficulty, but she managed.

“Look, you shouldn’t worry so much,” Junmyeon had advised her at the time, rubbing her back as she sobbed. “It’s temporary. We’ll be together for a long time now, and he won’t hate you for something so small. You’ll be good in no time.”

She eventually cheered up, making peace with Henry a couple of hours later, and Junmyeon attributed that to the natural course of things rather than to his poor advice; however, somehow, Junmyeon’s fame as a good counselor went around, and he suddenly found his bed turned into a solace for the lost and confused of the crew.

Amber came to him to complain about Henry, Henry came to him to complain about Amber. Yixing came to him once to talk about how lonely he felt sometimes, how he thought of himself as disposable to the crew, and that particular time Junmyeon gave him some of the most heartfelt advice he had ever gave.

“We found about life in this planet because of its music, and we were attracted to it by its music,” Junmyeon had said, hands on each of his shoulders. “You are a music genius, one of the greatest of your time. Who could be more essential to this mission than you?”

After that, Yixing became a more extroverted person, less quiet and, in a way, sillier. It was like he at last opened up completely to them, and Junmyeon considered that a job well-done.

And then there’s Chanyeol. Chanyeol goes to Junmyeon’s bed so frequently that he once openly considered just sleeping there from then on. He might have known Junmyeon for a shorter period of time than some of the crew, but he’s too full of insecurities, and Junmyeon is the only one constantly available for him to vent out to. From his reports, he’s got a list of everything that could go wrong with the mission – from them running out of fuel to the atmosphere at the planet being unbreathable to someone attempting suicide – and he feared every single possibility.

“What is it this time?” Junmyeon would ask in good nature every time Chanyeol plopped onto his bed, lying down in creative manners, seeing he was too tall to sit up.

“Hehe,” he’d smile an apologetic smile. “It’s just—what if…”

And there they’d go again.

Then, one time, it was different. One time, he arrived at Junmyeon’s bed in his familiar manner, but, before Junmyeon could open his mouth to ask what’s up, he pulled the shutter closed and stared at Junmyeon with intent.

Junmyeon, for some reason, felt a chill run up his spine.

“How do you do it?” Chanyeol asked, and the question genuinely confused Junmyeon. He expressed so, with a tilt of his head, and Chanyeol propped himself on his elbows. “You know… the celibate thing.”

From Junmyeon’s mouth erupted a surprised cackle, followed by many more, which tried, unsuccessfully, to hold down with a hand to his mouth. “What is it with you, all of sudden?”

“It’s just… you know,” he sighed, letting his head fall to the mattress. Chanyeol was specially fidgety that night. “It’s been, what, some months since last time? And I’m already going up the walls, I can’t imagine a lifetime of this.”

Junmyeon didn’t know what to say, or even what to feel. He just laughed in disbelief, and he had to ask, “You were having sex with someone in Brazil? I never knew.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly talk about my quickies over lunch,” Chanyeol retorted, cheeks bright pink. “It’s not polite. It wasn’t anything serious, because the trip and the training and blah blah, but yeah. Took away some of the urge.”

A carefully schooled, slightly insincere, frown of curiosity dawned upon Junmyeon’s face. “Interesting,” he affirmed. “I imagine you must be in bad shape as of now.”

“Dude, you’re kidding. My body is starting to act on its own wishes.” He sighed. “I just find myself. Contemplating it. With everyone.”

Junmyeon's heart stopped for a second. “Even me?” He asked with raised brows, half-joking.

“No! Not you, don’t want any trouble with the heavens,” Chanyeol declared in fake piety. “So yeah. How do you do it? Your self-control must be ace.”

“No, sure not. Of course, sometimes I feel temptation,” Junmyeon said, eyes on his hands, something akin to sadness in his voice. “But, if you think about it, it’s easier not to do it. When I hear of priests breaking the celibate vote, all I can think is of the awful lot of work involved.”

“But you gotta do something, right? I mean, sex—sex is a bodily need,” Chanyeol replied, interrupting himself to lower his voice when he said ‘sex’ a little too loud. “Do you at least masturbate? Is that allowed?”

“As far as I know…” Junmyeon shrugged.

“But, like, doesn’t it get boring? It does get boring to me,” there was a touch of whine to Chanyeol’s voice. “What about when you have to do it a lot of times a day? Your dick gets chaffed!”

“Use more lube. If you need, I’ll borrow you mine; I have a lot of it in my things.”

Chanyeol gasped. “You brought lube to the ship?!”

“Well, of course.” A small, humorless smile.

“You perve!”

“I merely don’t like having my sensitive body parts get chaffed.”

“How do you buy lube?” Chanyeol frowned. “Can you, as a priest, buy lube? Like, just walk into a sex shop and buy it?”

“It’s just hand lotion, Chanyeol.”

“Ah.” Chanyeol seemed a little disappointed at that. “But hey, you didn’t answer me. How does your wanking not get boring?”

Junmyeon rolled his eyes, secretly embarrassed. “I just get creative.”

“Holy shit, you sure are a perve,” Chanyeol widened his eyes, and, at that moment, it was like Junmyeon could see all the things he was imagining passing behind his eyes. He could barely wait for that conversation to be over. “Okay, I better get out of here before I start lusting after you and go to Hell when I die. I’ll _get creative_ by myself from now on.”

“Fetch the lotion in my things for increased creativity,” Junmyeon joked. “It’s in the black necessaire.”

“I appreciate it.” Chanyeol made an ‘okay’ sign with his hands, and left Junmyeon’s bed at last.

After he left, Junmyeon let out a deep sigh, feeling a headache form. 

And sure enough, the headache came, and lasted hours and hours. “Tensional,” Seulgi had diagnosed. “Have you been stressed about something?” Junmyeon said nothing, carefully blanking out his mind.

But of course, he wasn't stressed. Of course. How could he? That trip was, from its start to its end, peaceful, joyful, and fortunately uneventful; he hoped that it’d be the same at Jurupari.

 

 

He couldn’t have known. Nothing pointed towards what would happen, even subtly so, even with the smallest of the signs. Maybe it did to someone else, someone who did the research and worked with the actual logistic of the trip, but Junmyeon was just a priest. Junmyeon was there to give advice, and spiritual guidance, and his real job would only begin, when - _if _\- they landed and found civilization. He couldn’t have known, but maybe someone could.__

__Maybe Chanyeol’s unfounded worries hadn’t been that unfounded, after all._ _

__But then again, even if someone could’ve told what was going to happen in the landing, no one could’ve known what would happen in the planet. To that, there were no warnings, not even a cold, simmering intuition. Nothing._ _

__And even if such intuition had come, even if, when sighting the planet for the first time from the ship, Junmyeon had felt, amidst all the celebration, a bad feeling - there’d be no way to turn back, would it?_ _


	15. Jurupari, Earthly year 2090. - Eden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyahoi! here i am with yet another update. this one is full of suspense. dun dun duuuun. enjoy!

All he can think about landing is: they’re alive. That’s what matters.

They’re alive.

That’s what matters.

They’re alive.

That’s what matters.

Even though they’ve crashed, and a crashed module ship means no way back to the mothership, effective meaning that they’re stranded in a completely unknown planet before even making a preliminary exploration, they’re alive.

That’s what matters.

“We still have one module. And we could keep the parts of this one, who knows, maybe we can—”

“What? Reconstruct it? Stop dreaming, Chanyeol, we don’t even know how were gonna survive. Being more specific, do we know for sure that this is the planet?”

“Sunyoung is right. Not to mention, we don’t know how the natives, if there are any, will receive us. They could kill us right away.”

“Not to mention, we don’t have fuel. The second module might be less battered, but the tank is gone. All our fuel is at the asteroid.”

Silence. Silence falls upon them, and Junmyeon can practically hear the panic settling in, like sand pouring in a jar.

“We have food in the module, a mechanic, and an assorted set of inventive people among us,” Junmyeon speaks up. “We’ll find a way to come back. We all have been in dire situations before, and I guess it’s common sense that thinking of a solution with a calm mind is the best to do in situations like this one.”

All heads are now turned to him. Junmyeon smiles placidly; this is probably the best advice he would ever give in his lifetime.

“What I want to ask you is, why are we so worried about coming back,” he turns to face the land before them, opening his arms, “when we just got here?”

Because, indeed, the marvel that is Jurupari is bigger than the module problem right now; it’s bigger than any problem, of any sort, and any gravity.

In front on them is a vast, vast plane, peppered with shrubs here and there. From what they can see, in the horizon, some taller trees started to show, possibly indicating the beginning of a forest; and, to their immense luck, there was a river nearby, cutting the land with its vastness of water.

But, out of all things, the most amazing one is the sky, for there are two suns. The bigger one – Alpha Majoris, as Chanyeol would point out later as they set up their camp – was just starting to set, while the smaller one, Beta Majoris, was peaking in the sky.

“Thank God we have equipment in these,” Amber declares as they fetch things for the camp. “If everything had stayed at the ship, we’ve be done for.”

“That might be true, but we need to start worrying about food,” Seulgi points out, helping her with the things. “Without the asteroid, our stock became quite limited. We have to search and test for edibles.”

At that, Henry frowns. “How do you search for edibles?”

“We do monitored group tests, and taste every option from the strongest stomach to the weakest,” explained her. “Any failed step, and the option is out.”

“Ah, this test should start from Father Choi here then,” Henry points out, a grin spreading on his lips. At the course of one year, he had completely lost his fear for the older Jesuit. “He could probably drink rat poison with some sugar back home.”

“I thought that was Chanyeol, actually,” Siwon points out.

“Y’all should be talking to Amber,” Chanyeol passes on, hands busy with a tent.

“All I know is that Yixing needs to be the last,” Seulgi says before Amber can retort, turning to Yixing with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” After the dried tomato incident at the ship, it was pretty clear to everyone that Yixing had a very sensitive stomach. “I’m just not sure if I’ll be of any use. There are things back home that aren’t poison but I can’t eat, so we can’t eliminate things just because of me.”

“I’ll just write down the foods that pass through everyone but you,” Seulgi settles it.

Camp is set up. They drink canned soup, and fetch a sample from the river to analyze if it’s potable.

“The river is a sight,” says Sunyoung, a bucket in her hand.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my whole life,” adds an unexpectedly moved Yixing, who then goes onto describing every detail of the river, as the color of its water, the sand, the way the sun filters through it, etc.

By the time they’ve analyzed the residue composition and salinity of the water, ultimately deeming it potable if filtered, the second sun has started to set as well, revealing a night sky of many stars, but no moons. They all agree it’s an odd sight, eerie in a manner, but also inspiring, supernatural.

It’s like they’re in heaven, thinks Junmyeon, heart unexplicably full with contentment.

The days following their arrival are all like that, enveloped in those feelings of fantasy and wonder, and they soon forget about the crash and its consequences. They discover a new world all by themselves, naming plants and fungi they see as however pleases them; the two worlds are similar enough for comparisons, but different, oh so different, like an artist’s surrealist interpretation of Planet Earth. There are bushes with curly leaves that uncurl when both suns are in the sky, a weed made of many pin-shapped leaves that curl up in a bulb form, and, near the forest, there are trees that look like willows and give enormous orange-colored fruits.

“Our first edibles!” Seulgi reaches the camp, dirty and victorious, with one of those being carried on her shoulder. “Test subjects, line up!”

The chosen subjects turn out to be: Siwon, as the toughest one, therefore the first one to eat; Junmyeon coming unexpectedly as the second toughest; and Yixing as the last, eyeing the fruit with interest and a hint of sadness.

Luckily enough, the fruit - nicknamed “oranmelon” for the time being - passes the test with flying marks. There’s no indigestion, no tingling in the mouth, no stomach aches, not even gas problems; to top it off, it tastes tangy, reminding Junmyeon of something between a mango and a Brazilian fruit called guaraná.Yixing has a minimal intestinal discomfort, but he assures everyone that it isn’t serious.

“It’s normal, it’s always like this when I eat something different,” he reassures Seulgi, who, even so, frowns in worry.

“Okay.” She presses her lips tightly. “Let me know if it gets worse, okay?”

The next test is submitting the oranmelon for the others to taste. “Even if it’s not poisonous, someone could have an allergy,” Seulgi justifies when the crew, upset over how long the process is, complains. “I’d rather we stay on the safe side. We can’t…” But everyone knows what they can’t, so she never finishes that phrase.

With time, and more exploration, the crew makes another exciting discovery: wild life. Little living things that crawl in the tall grass, shining like beads under the sunlight; multiple-legged spider-like creatures that go in and out the bushes at amazing speed (“I counted ten legs,” Chanyeol reveals one time, and Sunyoung counter-attacks, “I counted fourteen.”); buzzing little dots that grow more numerous as they approach the forest, flying low in the grass and up high around the trees, never on their eye level… there are so many things to be seen, so many wondrous things, that it’s hard to think anything could go wrong.

 

 

 

 

“And then?”


	16. Jeju, February 16, 2127. - 落とし穴:pitfall

Junmyeon jumps in his chair, turning around to face Baekhyun with a rapidly paling face. Baekhyun now wishes he hadn’t been so sudden - even though he did his best to be quiet, his voice was still too loud.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he apologizes immediately, watching, with some worry, as Junmyeon’s complexion turns grey. 

It’s been some days since their arrival to the Jeju hideout, and Baekhyun’s days have been fairly quiet. After the fever incident in the reading room, he hasn’t had much contact with Junmyeon, first because of the fever itself, and, later, because he decided to retreat for the time being and think of a strategy. Unfortunately, all his thinking amounted to nothing; it was hard to form a plan with a target so unpredictable as Junmyeon.

As for Junmyeon himself… it was hard not to feel sorry for him. Everyday was something new, that was, somehow, more of the same. Vomiting. Hallucinations. Screaming, crying, cackling that can be heard all thorough the house, piercing through the thick brick walls and heavy wooden doors. And even when he’s lucid - lethargic and emotionless, but not out of himself - he’s in constant pain. When he arrived on Earth, a little over a month ago, he had been on the brink of death, starved, hurt in unspeakable places, so it’s not a surprise that, when he’s not on heavy medicine, he’s in constant pain. Usually, the pain is so intense that it triggers the mental crises, which exhaust him and therefore provoke more pain, and the cycle goes on.

Baekhyun can’t imagine what it must be like… which he thinks is for the best.

And, despite all of that, he still has a mission to fulfill, so he refuses to be thrown off.

“It’s okay,” Junmyeon says at least, releasing a long breath. “I… just, I didn’t hear you coming.” Pause. “Was I talking out loud?”

Baekhyun nods. “You were reading out loud, I believe,” Baekhyun specifies, nodding towards the book Junmyeon has on his lap: _Paradise Lost_ , by John Milton. “Then, you stopped, and stayed in silence for a minute. I was afraid you had fallen asleep.”

Junmyeon scoffs.. “Fallen asleep,” he repeats, glancing down at the hard-cover book resting over his legs. “The worst thing that could happen to me, isn’t it?”

“Well, Father, it _is_ winter, and you don’t have a blanket with you,” Baekhyun points out, unfazed. Junmyeon then glances around, then at himself, as if only now realizing such fact. “If you had fallen asleep, I’d have to drive you back to your room, so I decided to check.”

Junmyeon hums, seeming, if anything, amused by Baekhyun’s words. There’s something dark behind that amusement, and Baekhyun wonders if it’s just his impression, but he’s starting to think he’s some kkind of ill influence on Junmyeon’s mood.

“Father Byun, why are you here?” He asks at last, an enigmatic smile on his lips. Baekhyun blinks.

“I heard your voice in the hallway…”

“No, not that. Just… why are you with us?” A slight frown shows itself on Junmyeon’s scarce eyebrows. Most of his body hair was irregular, growing in spaced points along the area where it should be. Baekhyun knows, from Jongdae, that his hair is like that too. There are several bald spots on his scalp, Jongdae says, all of which are covered with careful combing. “Why are you this house? In this team? You don’t take care of me, nor do you take care of Kim Minseok.”

Baekhyun feigns slight offense. “I do, sporadically, take care of you, don’t you think? Like, right now—”

“No jokes, Byun Baekhyun. I don’t like you, and I’m not in the mood.” It’s as if a real knife just cut Baekhyun’s words in halves. Even though Junmyeon still smiles, he is absolutely gelid, staring directly into Baekhyun’s eyes with fixated, void black irises. “I don’t see you with Kim Jongdae; I don’t see you with Minseok, when he comes visit with his little pet. Every time I see you, you are loitering around with no apparent purpose. What are you doing here?”

Silence fills the room, trickling like water. Baekhyun, cornered, is at a loss; should he speak the truth? Should he make up an explanation, distort reality the tiniest bit with his words?

And then, it seems to dawn upon Junmyeon..

“Ah,” he says softly, widening his eyes. “You.”

Baekhyun barely refrains himself from answering, ‘me?’.

“You’re here to make me talk.” Junmyeon says, a smile gracing his lips - twisted, dark in nature. “The society sent you to convince me to accept the audience offer.”

Oh. Excellent. Baekyun had forgotten how terrible it feels to fail at an important task. Now that Junmyeon knows what he’s here for, what he wants every time he starts a conversation, getting him to open up has ceased to be a tangible future for Baekhyun. He needs a new tactic, or it’ll be like driving a cart up a wall.

“You’re not thinking about lying, are you?”

Baekhyun snaps back to reality. Blinking, he realizes he still hasn’t said anything. “No, sorry. You really caught me.” A smile. “I’m wondering whether asking you directly for your audition is a good idea or not.”

Junmyeon tilts his head, his gaze something fierce, as if he could see right through Baekhyun’s skin and flesh. “Have you reached an answer?”

“Yes. It seems like a bad idea, but I think I need a second opinion. What do you say?”

A dry, humorless laugh erupts from Junmyeon’s lips. “Unbelievable.” He shakes his head. “Your wit is admirable, Father.”

“And I thought you didn’t like me,” Baekhyun jokes before he can control himself, never one to be comfortable with seriousness.

“Oh, I don’t. But, because I don’t, I do.” Junmyeon’s mouth stretches in a grin, revealing chipped teeth and dark, receded gums. “Your dislikeableness is comforting. It’s familiar.”

Baekhyun is utterly disoriented, but he just goes with the flow. “Well, thank you. Never thought I’d hear that particular compliment.”

“It’s the only one I have for you.” The braces around Junmyeon’s hands hum and hiss as he, very slowly, picks up the book on his lap and extends it towards Baekhyun. After a second of hesitation, Baekhyun picks it up. Heavy. He stands there, right in front of Junmyeon’s wheelchair, book in hands as he awaits an answer.

“Very well,” Junmyeon says at last, eyes flicking from Baekhyun’s face to the fireplace nearby. “I will tell my story.”

Relief washes over Baekhyun’s body, so violently that it knocks out a sigh. “Thank you, Father Kim—”

“However,” comes the interruption. “I’m not giving an audience.”

The relief goes as quick as it came. Baekhyun is getting a headache from all the tosses and turns in this conversation. “You’re not?”

“No. Or rather, not one to the Society.” 

Baekhyun has the distinct impression he’s being toyed with. 

“So, you mean…” 

Junmyeon doesn’t answer.

“Uh.” Baekhyun’s mouth tighten. “So, will you… write it down? Or perhaps, record it?”

“Oh, no, Father Byun. What I mean,” there they are again - those teeth, that distorted mouth, “is that I want a private audience, just with you. You can call it a chat, if you want.”

Something about that sounds like a trap; however, Baekhyun knows this will be his best chance for a long time. If anything, this could be his _only_ chance. Trap or not, he has to dive right in.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” he smiles. “I have to say, I – not as part of the Society, but I as an individual – have always wanted to know your side.”

“I’m quite sure you’re not the only one.”

“Not out of simple curiosity, Father Kim Junmyeon. When growing up, I had always been fascinated by the reports of the mission.” Not a lie; he loved to discuss theories about what could’ve happened, why did the reports stop, what did they mean, what was hiding underneath. “It’ll like having a new sequel of my favorite book.”

Perhaps that was insensitive to say. Perhaps he shouldn’t have made it out to seem like, to him, Junmyeon’s traumatic experience on space was nothing more than a good story. Perhaps he should apologize immediately, and retreat, the _Paradise Lost_ hard-cover copy still heavy in his hands.

However, Junmyeon doesn’t stop smiling. He doesn’t show repulse, or anger, or a single sign of rejection. Instead, his eyes gleam.

“Very well. Let me quiz you for a moment then, to make sure you remember the story well.” The flickering light of the blue fire dances on the sharp lines of his face. “From when we… from when my crew landed on Jurupari on.” A tilt of his chin. “What happened?”

“The modules crashed,” answers Baekhyun.

“Good.” A pause. “Then?”

“Then… you found food, insects, and a river.” The answers slip easily off Baekhyun’s tongue, embended to his common knowledge. “You started travelling. At some point, Father Choi Siwon became sick. Food poisoning.”

“It wasn’t.” For a second - a moment so slight Baekhyun could’ve imagined it - Junmyeon’s dark expression hardens, and his smile falters. It looked vulnerable, but it was gone in a blink. “Although we did think it were, at the time. It wasn’t. We never found out what it was.”

“Okay,” Baekhyun nods. “Father Choi Siwon became sick of some unknown disease. The crew started travelling east, along the river and towards the forest, because Amber Liu said it’d be the easiest lead to civilization.”

Baekhyun is surprised that he remembers all of those, and, apparently, so is Junmyeon. “Impressive memory,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes with interest. “And then…?”

The book is heavy in Baekhyun’s hands.

“And then,” he goes on, “Zhang Yixing disappeared.”


	17. Jurupari, Earthly year 2090. - Stray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year lol. i've at last given up on trying to make this fic ~perfect~ & just wrapped it up kinda clumsily. sorry for the possible eventual quality drop, and please know i tried my best. that said, i think there's still a LOT to be posted so this might take another 2 years to be completed lol. i owe everyone who follows this fic a big heartfelt thank you. Thank You yall. (& sorry for short update, this and the following chapter didnt feel right lumped together)

Looking back, it feels bizarre that no one noticed anything wrong for such a long time. They made some comments, half-joking, about how Yixing was taking too long to fetch them water, but no one was seriously concerned until the first sunset.

Chanyeol was the first one to say it.

“Isn’t Yixing taking _too_ long, though?” He commented, frowning, hands covered in grease as he fiddled with the broken modules. “It’s been… several hours, right?”

Some others have gone off to search for food. The only ones around are Siwon, Sunyoung, and Junmyeon, each bent over a simple, silent task of their own. Upon Chanyeol’s words, though, they raise their eyes, and seem to realize.

“True enough,” Siwon agrees in a faint voice, glancing at the sky. “It’s been far too long. Has he fallen asleep?”

“He could just’ve gotten distracted,” Junmyeon points out.

“I should go get him,” Sunyoung surprises everyone by saying that, getting to her feet immediately. “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chanyeol gets up too, but she shakes her head.

“You two stay here and look after Father Choi.”

“Chanyeol should go with you,” Junmyeon advises, and her eyes snap to him, analytical. “I can take care of Father Choi by myself. If something happens to either of you, or if you find anything, the other can come warn us.”

Junmyeon is, as he always is, calm. He’s a portrait of serenity outside - but, inside, there’s no denying that he has a tinge of a bad feeling.

He and Siwon stay by themselves until the second sunset. Siwon is considerably better than he had been a couple of days before; he’s stopped vomiting, and his face has reacquired some color, even if he still feels nausea and abdominal pain. He spends most of the day lying down, being submitted to this and that to try to alleviate the pain. Seulgi refuses to try to use anything native - “The difference between poison and medicine is the dosage,” said her, “and it’d take me over 100 years to find the thresold for anything here” - so they’ve been doing their best with the Earthly medicine they have in the modules. However, not only the medicine is very limited, it doesn’t seem to work on the discomfort.

“The important thing is that I’m out of danger,” Siwon says after successfully convincing Junmyeon to uphold his medicine for the day. “You shouldn’t waste our stocks on me. Someone else might need it later.”

Junmyeon smiles sadly. “You need it right now, Father.”

“Don’t be foolish. I’ve been through worse,” Siwon insists, shaking his head. “All Jesuits have.”

Junmyeon remembers South Pole, and says nothing.

When the second sunset comes, the Seulgi-Amber-Henry party returns from East, arms full of oranmelons, pinwheel-fruits (which looked like its namesake and tasted vaguely citrusy), and tictocs (fruits with hollow seeds that made that exact noise when squeezed). In her left hand, Seulgi brings a bunch of herbs.

“Where are the others?” Amber asks once they reach the camp, dumping the fruit near the unlit bonfire.

“Went to fetch water,” Junmyeon communicates.

“Didn’t Xing go fetch water like… the same time we went exploring?” Henry frowns, also unloading his arms before rushing to help Seulgi.

“He didn’t come back.” Siwon’s voice is still faint. “Sunyoung and Chanyeol went find him. He might’ve got lost.”

The information is dealt casually, but the silence that follow Siwon’s words is chilly. _Lost_. It’s then that it first hits Junmyeon, and, by the looks they all exchange, the rest of the party - that it can be serious. That something bad might’ve happened to them.

But there’s some hope, some blind wishing that the bad premonition gnawing at their minds is wrong. They stay in silence for the long, long sunset, each executing a small chore independently, all collectively waiting for Chanyeol, Sunyoung, and Yixing to return at any minute, with some spectacularly simple and dumb explanation, laughing at them for getting so worried over nothing.

But night falls, and Chanyeol and Sunyoung return, and Yixing is not with them.

“We couldn’t find him,” Chanyeol communicates, shaking his head, and his tension on his voice triggers a sinking feeling in Junmyeon’s stomach. “We went as far as he could’ve gone in the time he was there, but we couldn’t find him. If he’s lost, he’s very, _very_ lost.”

“Technically speaking, he… how do I say this…” Sunyoung looks pale, dirty, sweaty, and electric. “Basically, we calculated the distance it’d take him to reach by foot in the time he was missing, based on the average speed he walks by, and searched around and beyond that area. He wasn’t there, which means he either ran for several hours, or was swallowed by the ground.” 

“Of course, this isn’t a sure thing,” Chanyeol is quick to add. “He could’ve gone in a completely different direction, or be walking at the same pace as us and not heard us call. There are other, more remote possibilities. The important thing is that, we should probably not lift camp for a few days.” 

“So he’ll find us here if he finds his way,” Seulgi finishes the thought for him. He nods. “I think it’s a good idea.” 

“We should search around the area once again when the first sun rises,” Amber suggests from where she’s sitting on the ground. “Spread out for a more comprehensive search.” 

No one finds it in them to disagree, so they eat insilence, and quickly fall asleep. 

They don’t lift camp for two days after that, being a day the period encopassing both sunrises, daytime, both sunsets, and nighttime. It is much longer than a day on Earth - Chanyeol has calculated it to last about a day and three quarters in Earthly time - but, lately, it hasn’t taken much of a toll on them. On the first day of searching, Junmyeon goes North with Sunyoung, while the others spread out in other directions. 

“I don’t like this,” Sunyoung repeats over and over. “I don’t like this, oh, I don’t like it at all.” 

It’s mildly unnerving. After a couple of hours of them walking and Sunyoung mumbling, Junmyeon cracks and asks her, “what is it that you don’t like, Sunyoung?” 

She frowns at the ground. Sweat covers her forehead and cheeks, and all the lines of her face are tense, lending her a slightly maniac look.Junmyeon can practically see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. 

“This,” she says at last. “Yixing, gone. This doesn’t smell good.” 

“It really doesn’t.” Junmyeon is forced to admit. “Even if he’s just lost, he’s in danger. With no shelter, in an unknown planet…” 

“And it’s not just that.” Sunyoung purses her lips. “You know, Yixing isn’t stupid, is he?” 

Junmyeon doesn’t answer, because it’s clear it’s a rethoric question, but Sunyoung pauses as if he would anyway. 

“He’d know better than wander off when lost, wouldn’t he?” When no reply comes, she carries on. “And if he were waiting for us, we would’ve found him already, wouldn’t we?” 

“What’s your point?” Junmyeon can feel a headache start to pound against his skull. 

“We came to this planet looking for civilization,” she stops walking. Junmyeon stops too, glancing at her with concern. “What if they found Yixing before we could find them?” 

Her eyes are embers when she lies them on him, waiting for a reaction, validation, counter-argument, anything. Junmyeon, on the other hand, is trying to process the information, a familiar cold feeling trickling down his spine. 

His jaw tenses, and he, too, glances at the ground. “I see what you mean.” 

“Yeah.” She licks her lips, and Junmyeon starts to recognize the emotion in her frown, her bunched up face, her stiff shulders. Dread. “What do we do now?” 

And once again, Junmyeon is in that position. The wise one. The advice-giver. Only, this time, the problem isn’t just a quarrel over who ate all the raisins, or another empty worry Chanyeol has about the engines. This isn’t something Junmyeon can think half-heartedly about. A wrong word from him now could put Yixing in danger, and, for a moment, the pressure feels so overpowering to him that he thinks of admitting he doesn’t know what to do, thinks of avoiding the question as his temples ache terribly under the suns. 

“We lift camp,” he says instead. “If he doesn’t come back until… say, the second sunset, we lift camp and search for the civilization. If he has taken shelter there, we will find him. If not… this is still our best shot. Unless things go awry with the natives, we could even ask them for help with the terrain.” 

It does nothing to soothe Sunyoung, if the quivering he sees in her arms is anything to go by, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how to address what she fears, doesn’t even know _what_ exactly she fears - so many things that were once distant worries are now much palpable, much closer to them than they once supposed. 

And they have no choice but to go towards them. So, without another word, they stand in the middle of the grassland for a minute of silence, before turning around and going back to camp. 

Junmyeon expected the idea to lift camp to be ill-received. During his and Sunyoung’s walk back, he thought of every argument he thought he’d have to use to make his point, to show the crew that the last of his intentions was to somehow hinder their search for Yixing. He thought everyone would see lifting camp as an act of abandonment; he certainly could see where that came from, and hoped he’d be able to swiftly convince the others. 

But he prepared for fight, for shouting, for words. He didn’t prepare for this. 

This empty, oppressive silence. 

Junmyeon didn’t expect all of them to be so out of spirits. He expected to find them angry, worried, but not disheartened enough to fall quiet when the last quarter dropped. 

The undeniable fact is that, they are stranded in completely unknown land; they don’t know anything about this world, the ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s of nature in there, and they don’t know what will be waiting for them once they find the natives; and if they, as a group, are finding so many obstacles to their survival… 

It took them nothing to realize that they might never see Yixing again. 

“It’s our only chance,” Junmyeon repeats weakly to the silence, but he knows he’s talking to the void. “It’s all we can do.” 

And so, with nothing but the bare minimum of communication, they lift camp, and depart East-bound. 

Walking for four days has them crossing the forest. 

“In open spaces like this, forests provide food, shelter, and some security,” Amber explains on the second day. “If there’s a civilization in this area, it’s either near to or beyond the forest altogether, in the outskirts. It depends on how developed they are as a society.” 

“Developed as in… whether they build houses, and stuff?” Henry asks, and Amber nods. 

“From glancing around, you can tell that whatever community that lives here isn’t industrialized yet, but that’s all. They could be at any level below that.” She makes a face, and raises her fingers for air quotes. “ _Below_.” 

After the first day, they’ve gradually started to talk again, either filled with new hope or too numb to grieve any further. For Junmyeon, it’s the latter, but he can’t be sure about the others. It’s hard to read the nuances behind people’s actions when everyone is so worn out, so Junmyeon has given up on it a while ago, blindly trusting his own intuition as they walked and walked and walked. 

He also blindly trusts Amber, like everyone else in the crew. She’s the one leading them on, picking up the possible tracks of the natives – “Here, look, this looks like a cleared path,” or “This looks like artificial marking”, few of which Junmyeon can actually notice, despite her efforts to make them see. When they walk, she walks in the front as the head of the crew, followed by Henry and Sunyoung, then Chanyeol and Junmyeon, and then Siwon and Seulgi, paired up so the medic can constantly monitor his discomfort. A while ago, he has had a new bout of vomiting, and Junmyeon hardly sees Seulgi looking anything close to bright these days. 

“I wonder all the time,” she confesses to him once, in camp, after most of them have passed out in their tents. “If I missed something in the water, or in the food. He was supposed to be the strongest stomach, but…” 

“If there was something wrong with those, wouldn’t we all be sick?” Junmyeon points out. She glances up at him, lips pursed sady. 

“Maybe,” she concedes in a mutter. “But then, what could it be? A virus?” 

“Maybe when we find the natives,” he says instead of answering, “they’ll know about this disease. If Father Choi caught it, it must be common. I’m no anthropologist,” he quickly adds. “But I think that, if it’s common, the community must have at least some information on it.” 

His words are followed by silence. He knows nothing he says actually provide Seulgi any comfort, but he does his best. 

She shifts on the ground, pulling up her knees to her chest. “Don’t let him hear you calling him ‘Father Choi’,” she half-jokes, smiling weakly. 

“He’ll survive,” Junmyeon shrugs. A pause. “I’ll say a prayer for him.” 

Out of all of them, the only one who looks absolutely healthy is Henry. Now that Junmyeon takes a look at it, though, it makes sense – it makes sense as to why Henry is in the crew, both as a priest and as a person. When Amber, who might have a lot of drive but has started to lose weight and hours of sleep, falters in her steps, Henry takes the lead. When Sunyoung closes up, body tense in a new fit of anxiety, Henry lightens the mood for her. When any of them need extra hours of rest, Henry takes over their vigilance shift, and, when Junmyeon feels close to emotional exhaustion, Henry is by his side. 

“You’re stronger than this, than any of this,” he affirms, face bright and body supple, despite all the strive, the excessive exercise, the underfeeding. “You’ve been to South Pole, haven’t you? It’s not exactly walking distance from proper civilization.” 

“Well, it’s on Earth,” Junmyeon justifies with a bit of humor, and Henry rolls his eyes. 

“Bullshit. Most of the time, you can’t even tell.” For a second, he stops talking, and just stares at Junmyeon, in a fixated, analytical way that has Junmyeon feeling self-conscious. Then, he shakes his head, and pulls Junmyeon into a tight embrace. “You’re a wise, strong man, and we need you to keep smiling serenely in the background while we collective lose our minds, so. Cheer up soon. Okay?” 

Junmyeon feels his heartbeat in his throat. Hesitantly, he brings his hands to Henry’s shoulders, resting them there in a light touch. “I—” He chokes up. “Thank you, Henry.” 

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Henry finally lets him go, patting him on the back with an energetic, cordial strength. “Gotta go check on Seulgi now. Told her that every time I see her looking sulky, I’ll tell her a bad joke. It’s working like a charm.” 

“I’m sure it is.” Junmyeon chuckles, and Henry makes a face before getting to his feet and walking away, not looking back. There’s a sprint in his step – not one of urgency, but of disposition, of _excitement_ , that Junmyeon can’t help but to envy. 

His body is still warm from the hug when he glances around and finds Chanyeol, who had passed out against a tree trunk, staring at the space where Henry had been some seconds ago. 

Apparently noticing Junmyeon’s glance, Chanyeol turns to him, and croaks out a, “how is he so… alive?” 

Junmyeon laughs feebly. “Henry is like this. He feeds off his own struggles,” he says. “Over the years I’ve known him, he was always in some dire situation; small missions in a lot of isolated places. I guess he got used to it.” 

“Yeah. I remember him wanting to ride a jacaré back in Brazil,” Chanyeol makes the face of someone who has eaten something bitter. 

“Not the wildest thing he has attempted at,” Junmyeon notes. 

Brief silence. Junmyeon watches Chanyeol’s pale, bony features, his hollowing cheeks, the shadows under his eyes… 

“Fuck,” he curses in a low voice, tipping his head back, letting it thump against the tree behind him. “Brazil feels like ages ago. I can barely remember a word in Portuguese.” 

“It _was_ ages ago,” Junmyeon emphasizes in a mutter. 

The realization renders them silent for the rest of the night. 

On their fift day of walking, they reach a clearing – and lose their breaths. 

Around them, in the wide, circular clearing, there are dozens and dozens of houses, at the tree roots, around the trunks, hiding among the leaves, hanging in between each other… scattered all around, ocre in colour, big enough for an adult to stand inside. 

Junmyeon almost expects someone to break down. He half-expects himself to break down, but he holds it together surprisingly well, and they just stand there, in stunned silence, for what feels like entire years. 

Then, slowly,as if unsure, Amber turns to them with the grace of a tour guide, and informs them, “Ladies and gentlemen… we’re here.” 

“This is,” Sunyoung follows up, voice faint. “It is… very human-looking.” 

“Quite,” Siwon agrees, voice even fainter. “It’s sinister, somehow. Do you hear a sound?” 

It leads them to notice it, the silence. Nothing but the rustle of the wind on the leaves, the soft whistle of the breeze. Junmyeon, himself, hears nothing. 

“Perhaps it’s abandoned,” Siwon concludes his line of thought. “Even so, it’s good evidence.” 

“I don’t think it’s abandoned,” Amber intervenes, walking further into the clearing. When Junmyeon glances at the direction where she’s going, he sees something in the ground; a dark spot on the middle of the clearing, similar to… “No, it’s definitely not abandoned. I think there’s ember in this bonfire.” 

“There’s Amber in the bonfire?” Another one of Henry’s ice cold jokes. No one pays him any mind. 

Amber reaches the bonfire itself, and kneels by its side. At this point, the rest of the crew have followed her, coming to stand in the center of the oppressively open space. Junmyeon casts a glance around it, carefully running his eyes around the houses, taking in every detail, every highlight and shadow, searching for someone – some sort of signal that no, they really weren’t alone. 

But then, he starts to hear something. To his ears, it sounds like the wind is picking up, the rustling of the leaves getting louder, but he still feels the breeze as soft as before, not a single notch stronger. And the more he listens, the less it sounds like wind. The more it sounds, to him, like marching steps. 

“You’re hearing this, right?” he asks, turning back to his crewmates, who had been analytically picking at the bonfire with their feet and hands. 

All of them stop on their tracks, listening out for the sound. By now, they don’t need to strain their ears very much: the sound is loud and clear, and definitely too loud to be the wind. Once they hear it, Junmyeon sees some expressions change. Henry and Chanyeol look psyched. Seulgi has a blank expression one, while Sunyoung and Siwon seem concerned. Amber looks on the verge of passing out. 

“Come,” she commands suddenly, retreating to where Junmyeon stands, considerably closer to the margin of the clearing. “We shouldn’t stand in the middle, it might intimidate… whatever is coming.” 

“Where are they coming from?” Chanyeol tries to chase the sound, glancing around a bit manically. “… what if they come from behind us…?” 

“They’re coming from across the clearing, or else the sound wouldn’t echo like this,” Seulgi assures him, looking pretty firm, even if a bit out of it still. “But they’re still not very close. We’ll have to wait.” 

They do. They wait, listening to the march attentively, trying to speculate what was coming, how many, what they should do upon first encounter… the biggest object of speculation was what the inhabitants of that place would look like. Amber and Seulgi were at it with each other, being the only two knowledgeable enough in matters of biology to discuss that sort of thing eloquently. Even if Chanyeol and Henry _did_ give their opinions here and there. 

“Not very tall,” Amber opinates. “Forest creatures are never very big, to make walking through the trees easier.” 

“But this forest isn’t very dense, so they shouldn’t be too short either,” Seulgi remarks. 

“True enough. If they’re the apex predator here, they must be of considerable size.” The sound is so loud right now that all of them are just waiting for the whatever-it-is – by the sound, and taking Amber’s remark about the inhabitants probably not being very big, Junmyeon judges that the entire community is walking together. Junmyeon doesn’t speak, both because he has nothing to add to that discussion, and because there’s a feeling of anxiety boiling in his stomach, barely blinking as he stares forward. 

Then, he sees a creature. 

And another creature. 

And another, and then another, and one by one the creatures came to stand, a crowd of them, freezing at the fringe of the clearing once they take in the presence of the Earthlings. 

Junmyeon loses his breath. 

The group is, at a first glance, very homogeneous. All the creatures are about the same height – and it’s hard to tell from where he stands, but Junmyeon has the impression that them and the crew are about the same height – have the same build, the same posture. They are very human looking in some aspects, hair on top of their heads, bypedes, with the bodily structure very similar to a human’s… but, even from afar, Junmyeon can notice some differences, like their legs, that are similar to a goat’s, their knees turned backwards. 

“What do we do now,” someone, probably Siwon, asks in a whisper. Now that the crowd have stopped walking, the previous sound has ceased, giving place to hurried hushing sounds in between the creatures. They, too, talk among themselves, and it’s like Junmyeon finally realizes – that they’ve found sentient life outside Earth, that he’s seeing them with his own eyes, and that they _talk_ , they have a _language_. 

“I’l try to talk to them,” Junmyeon whispers back, and, very carefully, steps forward. The talk among the natives ceases. 

The silence is deafening. 

Junmyeon’s posture is carefully harmless as he walks towards the bonfire; shoulders loose, steps light, eyes wandering here and there, never looking any of the creatures in the eye. And the closer they get to them, the less wary they seem to be, and the more fascinating their appearance is. 

Their arms are long, with the tips of their fingers reaching past their overturned knees. Broad shoulders, big head, flat feet… and fur, too, fine body hair covering all of their frame, becoming more abundant on the top of their heads, between their big, floppy, banana-shaped ears. Junmyeon stops just as he reaches the ashes, standing there and waiting, to show that he’s not a threat. 

The creatures glance at each other, and the whispering resumes. They seem to be discussing what to do. Junmyeon notices that those in the front, who are of slightly heavier build, are the only ones talking, while the rest is observing, occasionally glancing at Junmyeon. 

Eventually, the discussion ends, and the crowd parts. A relatively small one, one that had been standing in the middle, hidden by its bigger companions – it steps forward. 

Similarly to Junmyeon, it walks slowly, showing inoffensiveness, which makes Junmyeon suppress a relieved sigh. Its noodly arms swing back and forth as it walks, probably to keep balance, and, as it gets closer and closer, Junmyeon sees it more clearly, spotting new things about its appearance. He sees that he was right about their height – this one is quite taller than Junmyeon, but certainly shorter than Chanyeol, making it close to a human’s average – but had yet to notice their noses and mouth, frightening similar to a human’s. Or their eyes, big, round, bi-colored; Junmyeon could see dark and light brown in this one’s eyes, concentric, like a mandala. Or the two little rounded horns on the top of their heads, just between their ears. 

The creature stops. Junmyeon is at an arm’s distance from it. The only thing between them is the bonfire. 

Junmyeon does what he thinks is sensible: he bows. 

“Hello,” he says as he bows, perfect ninety degrees. “My name is Kim Junmyeon, and I come from Earth.” 

Silence. Junmyeon rises to upright position, and waits for any sort of reaction. The creature is staring fixedly at him with its fantastic eyes; its expression hard to read, hard to figure out, like a wild animal’s. 

Then, to Junmyeon’s absolute surprise – it mimics the polite bow Junmyeon did, bending at ninety-degrees as well. 

That’s impossible. 

The creature speaks, and the sound that comes out from its mouth is high-pitched and smooth. Of course, Junmyeon understands nothing, so all that follows its words is silence. A silence that echoes against the trees around them, against the dozens and dozens of houses. 

Junmyeon taps his own chest. “Junmyeon.” He says. 

The creature blinks. Its eyelids are also human like. 

Junmyeon tries again. “Junmyeon,” he says, pointing at himself. 

The creature slowly extends its finger – if Junmyeon were to read an emotion in the gesture, it’d be hesitancy, or cautioness – and points to Junmyeon’s chest. 

“Junmyeon”, Junmyeon repeats. 

“Jumyó,” the creature says, and Junmyeon nods. Then, it points at Junmyeon’s face. “Jumyó?” 

“Yes. Junmyeon,” Junmyeon points at his own face too. Then, he points at the creature. “You?” 

“Wĭra,” it says. It then tilts his body, and points at the crowd behind him. “Wĭra.” 

“Wĭra,” Junmyeon nods. He does the same, pointing at the crew. “Human.” 

“Huma?” The wĭra points at the humans. Junmyeon nods. “Jumyó?” 

“Junmyeon,” Junmyeon reiterates pointing emphatically at himself, and then at the wĭra. “You?” 

It thinks. It takes a moment, and Junmyeon can see it thinking. Then, it looks back at Junmyeon… its eyes truly are fascinating… 

“Xiao,” it says, pointing to its own chest. 

“Xiao.” Junmyeon can’t help the smile that invades his face. He smiles at Xiao, the wĭra, and, to his surprise, Xiao mimics the gesture, lips stretching in a loopsided, inexperient smile. 

And that is how the humans first make contact with the wĭra – the native sentient especies of the planet Jurupari. 

Or, _a_ native sentient especies of the planet Jurupari. 


End file.
